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RUDYARD KIPLING'S 
VERSE 

INCLUSIVE EDITION 

Mi 

1885-1918 



GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1920 






COPYRIGHT 

1 89 1, 1892, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1897, 1899, I9OO, 

1901, 1902, I903, I904, I905, I906, I907, 1909, 

I9IO, I9II, I912, I913, I914, 1915, I9l6, 

1917, 1918, I919, 

BY RUDYARD KIPLING 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 

THE VERSES FROM THE FIRST AND SECOND JUNGLE BOOKS 

ARE INCLUDED BY COURTESY OF 

THE CENTURY COMPANY 



Oo y^Ua G* 



L^O/^I 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"A Servant When He Reigneth" 628 

Absent-Minded Beggar, The 522 

American, An 210 

American Rebellion, The 762 

Anchor Song 127 

"Angutivaun Taina" 733 

Answer, The 425 

Anvil, The 748 

Arithmetic on the Frontier 50 

Army Headquarters 5 

"As the Bell Clinks" 59 

Astrologer's Song, An 654 

" Back to the Army Again" 487 

Ballad of Boh Da Thone, The 293 

Ballad of Burial, A 35 

Ballad of East and West, The 268 

Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-House, The 45 

Ballad of Minepit Shaw, The 725 

Ballad of the Bolivar, The 156 

Ballad of the Clampherdown, The 158 

Ballad of the King's Jest, The •■. 283 

Ballad of the King's Mercy, The 279 

Ballad of the Red Earl, The 263 

Ballade of Jakko Hill, A 56 

Bee-Boy's Song, The. . 659 

Bees and the Flies, The 609 

"Before a Midnight Breaks in Storm" 337 

Beginnings, The 739 

Bell Buoy, The 339 

Bells and Queen Victoria, The 768 

Belts 472 

Benefactors, The 391 

Betrothed, The 53 

Big Steamers 765 

Bill 'Awkins 504 

"Birds of Prey" March 490 

Blue Roses 695 

"Bobs" 449 

Boots 538 

V 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Boy Scouts' Patrol Song, A 314 

Bridge-Guard in the Karroo 234 

British-Roman Song, A 614 

Broken Men, The no 

Brookland Road 559 

"Brown Bess" 760 

Buddha at Kamakura 105 

Burial, The 239 

Butterflies 697 

"By the Hoof of the Wild Goat" 690 

Captive, The 598 

Carol, A 579 

Chant-Pagan 524 

Cells 460 

Certain Maxims of Hafiz 68 

Chapter Headings 

Beast and Man in India 634 

Fringes of the Fleet 639 

Just-So Stories 669 

Kim 637 

Life's Handicap 636 

Many Inventions 637 

Plain Tales from the Hills 573 

The Jungle Books 705 

The Light That Failed 606 

The Naulahka 603 

Charm, A 569 

Chil's Song 597 

Children, The 587 

Children's Song, The 642 

Choice, The 112 

Cholera Camp 5 00 

Christmas in India 61 

11 Cities and Thrones and Powers" 554 

City of Sleep, The 677 

"Cleared" .« 259 

Coastwise Lights, The 195 

Code of Morals, A 13 

Cold Iron 577 

Columns $2° 

Comforters, The 681 

Conundrum of the Workshops, The 386 

Covenant, The 367 

Craftsman, The 400 

Cruisers 161 

vi 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Cuckoo Song 568 

Danegeld 747 

Danny Deever 451 

Darzee's Chaunt 737 

Dawn Wind, The 752 

Dead King, The 256 

Death-Bed, A . . . 329 

Declaration of London, The 354 

Dedication from " Barrack Room Ballads" 95 

Dedication — To Soldiers Three 700 

Deep-Sea Cables, The 199 

Delilah 7 

Derelict, The 170 

Destroyers, The 164 

Dirge of Dead Sisters 249 

Divided Destinies 38 

Dove of Dacca, The 291 

Dutch in the Medway, The 759 

Dykes, The 352 

'Eathen, The 513 

Eddi's Service 581 

Edgehill Fight 758 

Egg-Shell, The 710 

En-Dor 417 

England's Answer 203 

English Flag, The 252 

Epitaphs of the War 440 

Et Dona Ferentes 331 

Evarra and His Gods 388 

Exiles' Line, The 1 87 

Explanation, The 423 

Explorer, The 119 

Fabulists, The 611 

Fairies' Siege, The 587 

Fall of Jock Gillespie, The 73 

Female of the Species, The 418 

Feet of the Young Men, The 311 

Files, The 401 

Fires, The 93 

First Chantey, The 1 83 

Floods, The 567 

Flowers, The 216 

"Follow Me 'Ome" 507 

"For All We Have and Are" 378 

"For to Admire" ' 520 

\ii 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Ford o' Kabul River 481 

Four Angels, The 738 

France 335 

Frankie's Trade 729 

French Wars, The 764 

" Fuzzy-Wuzzy" 455 

Galley-Slave, The. 84 

Gallio's Song 608 

Gehazi 277 

General Joubert 277 

General Summary, A 4 

Gentlemen-Rankers 483 

Gethsemane 112 

Giffen's Debt 90 

Gift of the Sea, The 426 

Gipsy Trail, The 207 

Glory of the Garden, The 769 

Gow's Watch 684 

Grave of the Hundred Head, The 63 

Great-Heart 772 

Greek National Anthem, The 107 

Gunga Din 462 

Hadramauti 601 

Half-Ballad of Waterval 544 

Harp Song of the Dane Women '. . 593 

"Helen All Alone" 678 

Heriot's Ford 727 

Heritage, The 632 

Holy War, The ^33 

Houses, The 204 

Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack 734 

Hyaenas, The 365 

Hymn Before Action 373 

If- . . 645 

Imperial Rescript, An 327 

In Springtime 89 

Instructor, The 537 

In the Matter of One Compass 193 

In the Neolithic Age 393 

Irish Guards, The 224 

Islanders, The 347 

Jacket, The 511 

James I 757 

Jester, The 650 

Jobson's Amen 57r 

viii 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Jubal and Tubal Cain 622 

Juggler's Song, The 730 

Justice 446 

King Henry VII and the Shipwrights 721 

King, The 429 

King's Job, The 753 

King's Task, The 712 

Kingdom, The 562 

Kitchener's School 231 

L'Envoi 93 

La Nuit Blanche 31 

Ladies, The 502 

Lament of the Border Cattle Thief, The 309 

Land, The 666 

Last Chantey, The 184 

Last Department, The 23 

Last of the Light Brigade, The 228 

Last Rhyme of True Thomas, The 430 

Last Suttee, The 273 

Law of the Jungle, The 626 

Legend of Mirth, The 582 

Legend of the Foreign Office, A 9 

Legends of Evil, The 404 

Lesson, The 344 

Lichtenberg 541 

Liner She's a Lady, The 181 

Long Trail, The 189 

Looking-Glass, The 675 

Loot 466 

Lord Roberts 233 

Lost Legion, The 222 

Love Song of Har Dyal, The 700 

Lovers' Litany, The 34 

Lowestoft Boat, The 717 

"Lukannon" 653 

M. I. . 527 

M 'Andrew's Hymn 137 

Macdonough's Song 630 

Man Who Could Write, The 19 

Mandalav 476 

Mare's Nest, The 44 

Married Man, The 539 

Mary Gloster, The 147 

"Mary Pity Women!" 518 

Mary's Son 426 

Masque of Plenty, The 39 



IX 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Merchantmen, The 172 

Merrow Down 662 

Mesopotamia 346 

Mine Sweepers 693 

Miracles, The 101 

Moon of Other Days, The 72 

Morning Song in the Jungle 694 

Mother-Lodge, The 505 

Mother o' Mine 701 

Mowgli's Song Against People 703 

Mulholland's Contract 145 

Municipal 22 

My Boy J ack 247 

My Father's Chair 752 

My Lady's Law 698 

*' My New-Cut Ashlar" 580 

My Rival 25 

Native Born, The 218 

Nativity, A 248 

Natural Theology 395 

Necessitarian, The 648 

New Knighthood, The 590 

Norman and Saxon . 749 

North Sea Patrol, The 731 

Nursing Sister, The 699 

Old Issue, The 341 

Old Men, The 36S 

Old Mother Laidinwool 664 

Old Song, An 66 

Oldest Song, The 181 

One Viceroy Resigns 78 

Only Son, The 702 

Oonts 464 

" Our Fathers Also" 612 

"Our Fathers of Old" ] 631 

Our Lady of the Snows 208 

Outlaws, The . 370 

Outsong in the Jungle 591 

Overland Mail, The 37 

Pagett, M. P 29 

Palace, The 4j s 

Pan in Vermont 407 

Parade-Song of the Camp-Animals 643 

Parting of the Columns, The 533 

Peace of Dives, The 320 

Pharaoh and the Sergeant 226 

y 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Philadelphia 774 

Pict Song, A 614 

Piet 546 

Pilgrim's Way, A 423 

Pink Dominoes 20 

Pirates in England, The 746 

Plea of the Simla Dancers, The 57 

"Poor Honest Men" 618 

Poseidon's Law 716 

Possibilities 49 

Post that Fitted, The 12 

Prairie, The 570 

Prayer, The 740 

Prayer of Miriam Cohen, The 680 

Prelude to Departmental Ditties 3 

Press, The 600 

Pro-Consuls, The 123 

Prodigal Son, The 646 

Prophets at Home 621 

Public Waste 15 

Puck's Song 555 

Puzzler, The 599 

Queen's Men, The 676 

Question, The 376 

Rabbi's Song, The 658 

Rebirth 649 

Recall, The 554 

Recantation, A 421 

Recessional 377 

Reeds of Runnymede, The 750 

Reformers, The 366 

Return, The 551 

Return of the Children, The 661 

Rhyme of the Three Captains, The 381 

Rhyme of the Three Sealers 129 

"Rimini" 617 

Rimmon 359 

Ripple Song, A 696 

River's Tale, The 743 

Road-Song of the Bandar-Log 610 

Roman Centurion's Song, The 744 

Romulus and Remus 704 

Route Marchin' 484 

Rowers, The 325 

Run of the Downs, The 558 

Rupaiyat of Omar Kal'vin, The 28 

xi 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Russia to the Pacifists 319 

Sack of the Gods, The 560 

Sacrifice of Er-Heb, The 302 

St. Helena Lullaby, A 596 

Sappers 494 

School Song, A 623 

Screw-Guns 458 

Sea and the Hills, The 125 

Sea- Wife, The 108 

Second Voyage, The 179 

Secret of the Machines, The -766 

Sergeant's Weddin', The 509 

Sestina of the Tramp-Royal 100 

Settler, The 242 

Seven Watchmen 448 

Shillin' a Day 486 

Shiv and the Grasshopper 585 

Shut-Eye Sentry, The 516 

Sir Richard's Song 564 

Smuggler's Song, A 720 

"Snarleyow" 469 

Soldier, Soldier 457 

"Soldier an' Sailor Too" 492 

Song at Cock-Crow, A 374 

Song in Storm, A 169 

Song of Diego Valdez, The 175 

Song of Kabir, A 578 

Song of the Banjo, The 113 

Song of the Cities, The 200 

Song of the Dead, The 196 

Song of the English, A 194 

Song of the Fifth River 640 

Song of the Lathes, The 357 

Song of the Little Hunter, The 683 

Song of the Men's Side 735 

Song of the Red War-Boat 691 

Song of the Sons, The 200 

Song of the White Men, A 324 

Song of the Wise Children 103 

Song of the Women, The 52 

Song of Seven Cities, The 660 

Song of Travel, A 651 

Song to Mithras, A 589 

Sons of Martha, The 436 

South Africa ' 237 



Xll 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Spies' March, The 117 

Stellenbosh 543 

Story of Ung, The 397 

Story of Uriah, The 11 

Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink 6 

Stranger, The 616 

Sussex 244 

Tale of Two Cities, A 86 

Tarrant Moss 562 

That Day 497 

"The City of Brass" 361 

"The Men That Fought at Minden" 498 

"The Power of the Dog" 656 

"The Service Man" 522 

"The Trade" 711 

Things and the Man 240 

Thorkild's Song 732, 

Thousandth Man, The 594 

Three-Decker, The 379 

Three-Part Song, A 558 

To the City of Bombay . 205 

To the True Romance 97 

To the Unknown Goddess 26 

To Thomas Atkins 448 

"Together " 756 

Tomlinson 411 

Tommy 453 

Translation, A 652 

Tree Song, A 565 

Troopin' 478 

Truce of the Bear, The . 316 

Truthful Song, A 718 

Two Kopjes 53^ 

Two Months 92 

Two-Sided Man, The. 652 

Ubique 550 

Ulster 266 

Undertaker's Horse, The 77 

Vampire, The 2<i 

Verdicts, The 163 

Verses on Games 408 

Veterans, The 351 

Virginity, The 403 

Voortrekker, The 623 



Wage-Slaves, The. 



..." 355 

xiii 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Way Through the Woods, The 557 

Wet Litany, The 724 

What Happened 17 

What the People Said 75 

When Earth's Last Picture is Painted 258 

When 'Omer Smote 'Is Bloomin' Lyre 776 

'•When the Great Ark" 620 

White Horses 166 

White Man's Burden, The . 371 

Widow at Windsor, The 470 

Widow's Party, The 479 

Widower, The 68c 

"Wilful-Missing" 548 

Winners, The 595 

Wishing-Caps, The . ... 689 

With Drake in the Tropics 755 

With Scindia to Delhi 286 

Young British Soldier, The 474 

Young Queen, The 214 

Zion , „ 104 



PRELUDE 

{To Departmental Ditties) 

I have eaten your bread and salt. 

I have drunk your water and wine. 
The deaths ye died I have watched beside*, 

And the lives ye led were mine. 



Was there aught that I did not share 

In vigil or toil or ease, — 
One joy or woe that I did not know, 

Dear hearts across the seas ? 



I have written the tale of our life 
For a sheltered people 's mirth, 

In jesting guise — but ye are wise, 
And ye know what the jest is worth. 



RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

A GENERAL SUMMARY 

W/'E are very slightly changed 
From the semi-apes who ranged 
India's prehistoric clay; 
He that drew the longest bow 
Ran his brother down, you know, 
As we run men down to-day. 

"Dowb," the first of all his race, 
Met the Mammoth face to face 

On the lake or in the cave: 
Stole the steadiest canoe, 
Ate the quarry others slew, 

Died — and took the finest grave. 

When they scratched the reindeer-bone, 
Some one made the sketch his own, 

Filched it from the artist — then, 
Even in those early days, 
Won a simple Viceroy's praise 

Through the toil of other men. 
Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage 
Favouritism governed kissage, 

Even as it does in this age. 

Who shall doubt "the secret hid 
Under Cheops' pyramid" 
Was that the contractor did 

Cheops out of several millions? 
Or that Joseph's sudden rise 
To Comptroller of Supplies 
Was a fraud of monstrous size . 

On King Pharaoh's swart Civilians? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Thus, the artless songs I sing 
Do not deal with anything 

New or never said before. 
As it was in the beginning 
Is to-day official sinning, 

And shall be for evermore! 



ARMY HEADQUARTERS 

Old is the song that I sing — 

Old as my unpaid bills — 
Old as the chicken that kitmutgars 1 bring 

Men at dak-bungalows — old as the Hills. 

A HASUERUS JENKINS of the "Operatic Own," 

Was dowered with a tenor voice of jw^^r-Santley tone. 
His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer. 
He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had an ear. 

He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a day; 
He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way; 
His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders, 
But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders. 

He took two months at Simla when the year was at the 

spring, 
And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. 
He warbled like a bul-bul 2 but particularly at 
Cornelia Agrippina, who was musical and fat. 

She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled a 

Dept. 
Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds were kept 
From April to October on a plump retaining-fee > 
Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian Treasury. 

» Waiters. 2 Nightingale. 



6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used to play; 
He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false as they* 
So when the winds of April turned the budding roses brown, 
Cornelia told her husband: — "Tom, you mustn't send him 
down." 

They haled him from his regiment, which didn't much regret 

him; 
They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool they set 

him 
To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day, 
And draw his plump retaining-fee — which means his double 

pay. 

Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups are brought, 
Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte; 
And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen great, 
And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a Power in the State! 



STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK 

This ditty is a string of lies. 

But — how the deuce did Gubbins rise? 

pOTIPHAR GUBBINS, C. E., 

Stands at the top of the tree; 
And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led 
To the hoisting of Potiphar G. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C.E., 
Is seven years junior to Me; 
Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks, 
And his work is as rough as he. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Potiphar Gubbins, C.E., 
Is coarse as a chimpanzee; 
And I can't understand why you gave him your hand, 
Lovely Mehitabel Lee. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C.E., 
Is dear to the Powers that Be; 
For They bow and They smile in an affable style, 
Which is seldom accorded to Me. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C.E., 
Is certain as certain can be 
Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host 
Of seniors — including Me. 

• Careless and lazy is he, 
Greatly inferior to Me. 
What is the spell that you manage so well, 
Commonplace Potiphar G. ? 

Lovely Mehitabel Lee, 
Let me inquire of thee, 
Should I have riz to what Potiphar is, 

Hadst thou been mated to Me? 



DELILAH 

We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done 
Of DeHlah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne. 

J)ELILAH ABERYSWITH was a lady— not too young— 
With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly-bitted 
tongue, 
With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst for praise, 
And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days. 



8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in power, 
Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the hour; 
And many little secrets, of the half-official kind, 
Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them all in mind. 



She patronised extensively a man, Ulysses Gunne, 
Whose mode of earning money was a low and shameful one. 
He wrote for certain papers which, as everybody knows, 
Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the crows. 



He praised her "queenly beauty" first; and. later on, he 

hinted 
At the "vastness of her intellect" with compliment unstinted. 
He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was such 
That he lent her all his horses and — she galled them very 

much. 



One day, They brewed a secret of a fine financial sort; 

It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report. 

'Twas almost worth the keeping, — only seven people knew 

it — 
And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently ensue it. 

It was a Viceroy's Secret, but — perhaps the wine was red — 
Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head — 
Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright — Delilah's whispers 

sweet — 
The Aged Member told her what 'twere treason to repeat. 



Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and flowers; 
Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several hours; 
Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him dance — 
Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 9 

The summer sun was setting, and the summer air was still, 
The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer Hill. 
The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis-green and gold, 
Ulysses pleaded softly, and . . . that bad Delilah told! 

Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-important news; 
Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his shoes. 
Next month, I met Delilah and she did not show the least 
Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a "beast." 



We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and 

done — 
Of, Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne! 



A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 

This is the reason why Rustum Beg, 

Rajah of Kolazai, 
Drinketh the "simpkin" 1 and brandy peg, 

Maketh the money to fly, 
Vexeth a Government, tender and kind, 
Also — but this is a detail — blind. 

RUSTUM BEG of Kolazai— slightly backward Native 
1X State- 
Lusted for a C. S. I. 2 — so began to sanitate. 
Built a Gaol and Hospital — nearly built a City drain — 
Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler was insane. 

Strange departures made he then — yea, Departments 

stranger still: 
Haifa dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with a will, 
Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a future fine 
For the State of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line. 

Champagne. 2 The order of the Star of India. 



io RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Rajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues a half; 
Organised a State Police; purified the Civil Staff; 
Settled cess and tax afresh in a very liberal way; 
Cut temptations of the flesh — also cut the Bukhshi's 1 pay; 

Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury, 
By an Order hinting at supervision of dasturi; 2 
Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside-down; 
When the end of May was nigh waited his achievement's 
crown. 

Then the Birthday Honours came. Sad to state and sad 

to see, 
Stood against the Rajah's name nothing more than 

CLE M . . . 
Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai, 
Even now the people speak of that time regretfully. 



How he disendowed the Gaol — stopped at once the City 

drain; 
Turned to beauty fair and frail — got his senses back again; 
Doubled taxes, cesses, all; cleared away each new-built 

thana;* 
Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb Zenana; 

Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and honours mani- 
fold; 

Clad himself in Eastern garb — squeezed his people as of old. 

Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum Beg 

Play to catch his Viceroy's eye. He prefers the "simpkin" 
Peg- 

: The Commander in chief. a Bribes. 8 A Companionship of the order 

of the Indian Empire. 'Police station. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 i 

THE STORY OF URIAH 

'Now there were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor. 

JACK BARRETT went to Quetta 

Because they told him to. 
He left his wife at Simla 

On three-fourths his monthly screw. 
Jack Barrett died at Quetta 

Ere the next month's pay he drew. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta. 

He didn't understand 
The reason of his transfer 

From the pleasant mountain-land. 
The season was September, 

And it killed him out of hand. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta 

And there gave up the ghost, 
Attempting two men's duty 

In that very healthy post; 
' And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him 

Five lively months at most. 

Jack Barrett's bones at Quetta 

Enjoy profound repose; 
But I shouldn't be astonished 

If now his spirit knows 
The reason of his transfer 

From the Himalayan snows. 

And, when the Last Great Bugle Call 

Adown the Hurnai throbs, 
And the last grim joke is entered 

In the big black Book of Jobs, 



12 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And Quetta graveyards give again 
Their victims to the air, 

I shouldn't like to be the man 
Who sent Jack Barrett there. 



THE POST THAT FITTED 



Though tangled and twisted the course of true love 

This ditty explains, 
No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve 

If the Lover has brains. 



"pRE the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged 

to marry 
An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called "my little 

Carrie. ,> 
Sleary 's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other way. 
Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight poor rupees a 

day? 

Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly furnished 

quarters — 
Then proposed to Minnie Boffkin, eldest of Judge BofFkin's 

daughters. 
Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch, 
But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make another 

match. 

So they recognised the business and, to feed and clothe the 

bride, 
Got him made a Something Something somewhere on the 

Bombay side. 
Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to marry — 
As the artless Sleary put it: — "Just the thing for me and 

Carrie." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 13 

Did he, therefore, jilt Miss Boffkin — impulse of a baser mind? 
No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind. 
[Of his modus operandi only this much I could gather: — 
" Pears 's shaving sticks will give you little taste and lots of 
lather."] 

Frequently in public places his affliction used to smite 
Sleary with distressing vigour — always in the Boffkins' sight. 
Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned his ring, 
Told him his "unhappy weakness" stopped all thought of 
marrying. 

Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy joy, — 

Epileptic fits don't matter in Political employ, — 

Wired three short words to Carrie — took his ticket, packed 

his kit — 
Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, long, lingering fit. 

Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read — and laughed until she 

wept — 
Mrs. Boffkin's warning letter on the "wretched epilept." . . . 
Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. Boffkin sits 
Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits. 



A CODE OF MORALS 

Lest you should think this story true 
I merely mention I 
Evolved it lately. 'Tis a most 
Unmitigated misstatement. 

'M'OW Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house 

in order, 
And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border, 
To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught 
His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at 

naught. 



U RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair; 

So Cupid and Apollo linked, per heliograph, the pair. 

At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel 

wise — 
At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's homilies. 

He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and 

gold, 
As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the old; 
But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs) 
That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs. 

'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on 

the way, 
When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play. 
They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and 

burnt — 
So stopped to take the message down — and this is what they 

learnt — 

"Dash dot dot dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. The 
General swore. 

"Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' before? 

"'My Love/ i' faith! 'My Duck,' Gadzooks! 'My darling 
popsy-wop ! ' 

"Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountain- 
top?" 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff were 

still, 
As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message 

from the hill; 
For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband's warning 

ran: — 
"Don't dance or ride with General Bangs — a most immoral 

man." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 15 

[At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel 

wise — 
But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.] 
With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife 
Some interesting details of the General's private life. 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining StafT were 

still, 
And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven gill. 
And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not) : — 
"I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about 

there! Trot!" 

All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter know 
By word or. act official who read off that helio. 
But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to MooUan 
They know the worthy General as " that most immoral 
man." 



PUBLIC WASTE 

Walpole talks of "a man and his price." 
List to a ditty queer — 

The sale of a Deputy-Acting-Vice- 
Resident-Engineer, 

Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide, 

By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side. 

T* Y THE Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters 
of brass 

That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the Rail- 
ways of State, 

Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects wherein 
he must pass; 

Because in all matters that deal not with Railways his know- 
ledge is great. 



16 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boyhood to eld 
On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North 

and South; 
Many Lines had he built and surveyed — important the posts 

which he held; 
And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened 

his mouth. 

Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier still — 

Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study and know- 
ledge — 

Never clanked sword by his side — Vauban he knew not nor 
drill— 

Nor was his name on the list of the men who had passed 
through the "College." 

Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little tin souls, 
Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs at his 

heels, 
Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the Government 

rolls 
For the billet of "Railway Instructor to Little Tin Gods on 

Wheels." 

Letters not seldom they wrote him, "having the honour to 

state," 
It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf. 
Much would accrue to his bank-book, an he consented to wait 
Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself, 

"Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the Fifty 

and Five, 
Even to Ninety and Nine" — these were the terms of the 

pact: 
Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may Their Highnesses 

thrive !) 
Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle intact; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 17 

Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed the 

Bhamo State Line 
(The which was one mile and one furlong — a guaranteed 

twenty-inch gauge), 
So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign, 
And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year 

of his age ! 



WHAT HAPPENED 

fJURREE CHUNDER MOOKERJEE, pride of Bow 

Bazaar, 
Owner of a native press, "Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited on the Government with a claim to wear 
Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. 

Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, 
Said to Chunder Mookerjee: "Stick to pen and ink. 
They are safer implements, but, if you insist, 
We will let you carry arms wheresoe'er you list." 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and 
Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and Bland s 
Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made sword, 
Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad. 

But the Indian Government, always keen to please, 
Also gave permission to horrid men like these — 
Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal, 
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil; 

Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, 
Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq — 
He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-00 
Took advantage of the Act — took a Snider too. 



1 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them not. 
They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the spot; 
And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, 
Made them slow to disregard one another's rights. 

With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts 

All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts 

Said: "The good old days are back — let us go to war!" 

Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow Bazaar. 

Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail; 
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail; 
Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee 
As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. 

Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, 
Abdul Huq, Wahabi, jerked his dagger from its place, 
While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and jabbered 
Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared his dah-blade from the scab- 
bard. 

What became of Mookerj ee ? Soothly, who can say ? 
Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, 
Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute, 
But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot. 

What became of Ballard's guns? Afghans black and grubby 
Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; 
And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made sword are 
Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. 

What became of Mookerj ee? Ask Mahommed Yar 
Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow Bazaar. 
Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh — question land and sea- 
Ask the Indian Congressmen — only don't ask me! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 19 



THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE 

Shun — shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink 
Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in 't; 

Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink 

Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in *t. 

There may be silver in the "blue-black" — all 

/ know of is the iron and the gall. 

gOANERGES BLITZEN, servant of the Queer,, 

Is a dismal failure — is a Might-have-been, 
In a luckless moment he discovered men 
Rise to high position through a ready pen. 

Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore — "I, 
With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high." 
Only he did not possess when he made the trial. 
Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L — 1. 

[Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows_ 
Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.] 

Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright, 
Till an Indian paper found that he could write: 
Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark, 
When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark. 



Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm, 
In that Indian paper — made his seniors squirm, 
Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth — 
Was there ever known a more misguided youth? 

When the Rag he wrote for praised his plucky game, 
Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame; 
When the men he wrote of shook their heads and swore, 
Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more: 



2o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim, 
Till he found promotion didn't come to him; 
Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, 
And his many Districts curiously hot. 

Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win, 
Boanerges Blitzen didn't care a pin: 
Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn't right- 
Boanerges Blitzen put it down to "spite"; 

Languished in a District desolate and dry; 
Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by; 
Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair. 



That was seven years ago — and he still is there! 



PINK DOMINOES 

"They are fools who kiss and tell" — 

Wisely has the poet sung. 
Man may hold all sorts of posts 

If he'll only hold his tongue. 

JENNY and Me were engaged, you see. 

On the eve of the Fancy Ball; 
So a kiss or two was nothing to you 
Or any one else at all. 

Jenny would go in a domino — 

Pretty and pink but warm; 
While I attended, clad in a splendid 

Austrian uniform. 

Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged 

Early that afternoon, 
At Number Four to waltz no more, 

But to sit in the dusk and spoon. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 21 

I wish you to see that Jenny and Me 

Had barely exchanged our troth; 
So a kiss or two was strictly due 

By, from, and between us both. 

When Three was over, an eager lover, 

I fled to the gloom outside; 
And a Domino came out also 

Whom I took for my future bride. 



That is to say, in a casual way, 

I slipped my arm around her; 
With a kiss or two (which is nothing to youj. 

And readv to kiss I found her. 



She turned her head and the name she said 

Was certainly not my own; 
But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek 

She fled and left me alone. 

Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame 

She'd doffed her domino; 
And I had embraced an alien waist — 

But I did not tell her so. 

Next morn I knew that there were two 

Dominoes pink, and one 
Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian Vouse, 

Our big Political gun. 

Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, 
And her eye was a blue cerulean; 

And the name she said when she turned her head 
Was not in the least like "Julian." 



22 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Now wasn't it nice, when want of pice 

Forbade us twain to marry, 
That old Sir J., in the kindest way, 

Made me his Secretarry ? 



MUNICIPAL 

"Why is my District death-rate low?" 

Said Binks of Hezabad. 
"Well, drains, and sewage-outfalls are 

"My own peculiar fad. 
"I learnt a lesson once. It ran 
"Thus," quoth that most veracious man: — 



I 



T WAS an August evening and, in snowy garments clad, 
I paid a round of visits in the lines of Hezabad; 
When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like at all, 
A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall. 

I couldn't see the driver, and across my mind it rushed 
That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone musth. 1 
I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get down, 
So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the town. 

The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood the 

strain, 
Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above the City Drain; 
And the next that I remember was a hurricane of squeals, 
And the creature making toothpicks of my five-foot patent 

wheels. 

He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught with fear, 
To the Main Drain sewage-outfall while he snorted in my 

ear — 
Reached the four-foot drain-head safely and, in darkness 

and despair, 
Felt the brute's proboscis fingering my terror-stiffened hair. 

>Mad. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 23 

Heard it trumpet on my shoulder — tried to crawl a little 

higher — 
Found the Main Drain sewage outfall blocked, some eight 

feet up, with mire; 
And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very marrow froze, 
While the trunk was feeling blindly for a purchase on my 

toes! 



It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning grey 
Before they called the drivers up and dragged the brute away. 
Then I sought the City Elders, and my words were very 

plain. 
They flushed that four-foot drain-head and — it never choked 

again! 

You may hold with surface-drainage, and the sun-for-gar- 

bage cure, 
Till you've been a periwinkle shrinking coyly up a sewer. 
/ believe in well-flushed culverts. . . . 

This is why the death-rate's small; 
And, if you don't believe me, get shikarred 1 yourself. Thats 

all. 



THE LAST DEPARTMENT 

Twelve hundred million men are spread 
About this Earth, and I and You 

Wonder, when You and I are dead, 

"What will those luckless millions do?" 

^"ONE whole or clean," we cry 5 " or free from stain 
Of favour." Wait awhile, till we attain 
The Last Department where nor fraud nor fools, 
Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. 

1 Hunted. 



RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Fear, Favour, or Affection — what are these 
To the grim Head who claims our services? 

I never knew a wife or interest yet 
Delay that pukka step, miscalled "decease"; 

When leave, long overdue, none can deny; 
When idleness of all Eternity 

Becomes our furlough, and the marigold 
Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury 

Transferred to the Eternal Settlement, 
Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent, 
No longer Brown reverses Smith's appeals, 
Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent. 

And One, long since a pillar of the Court, 

As mud between the beams thereof is wrought; 

And One who wrote on phosphates for the crops 
Is subject-matter of his own Report. 

These be the glorious ends whereto we pass- 
Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; 

And He shall see the mallie 1 steals the slab 
For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass. 

A breath of wind, a Border bullet's flight, 
A draught of water, or a horse's fright — 

The droning of the fat Sheristada/ 2 
Ceases, the punkah stops, and falls the night 

For you or Me. Do those who live decline 
The step that offers, or their work resign? 

Trust me, To-day's Most Indispensables, 
Five hundred men can take your place or mine. 
*The cemetery gardener. J Clerk of the court. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

MY RIVAL 

T GO to concert, party, ball — 

What profit is in these? 
I sit alone against the wall 

And strive to look at ease. 
The incense that is mine by right 

They burn before Her shrine; 
And that's because I'm seventeen 

And she is forty-nine. 



I cannot check my girlish blush, 

My colour comes and goes. 
I redden to my finger-tips, 

And sometimes to my nose. 
But She is white where white should be, 

And red where red should shine. 
The blush that flies at seventeen 

Is fixed at fortv-nine. 



I wish / had her constant cheek: 

I wish that I could sing 
All sorts of funny little songs, 

Not quite the proper thing. 
I'm very gauche and very shy, 

Her jokes aren't in my line; 
And, worst of all, I'm seventeen 

While She is forty-nine. 



The young men come, the young men go, 
Each pink and white and neat, 

She's older than their mothers, but 
They grovel at Her feet. 



26 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They walk beside Her 'rickshaw-wheels — 

None ever walk by mine; 
And that's because I'm seventeen 

And She is forty-nine. 

She rides with half a dozen men 

(She calls them "boys" and "mashes"), 
I trot along the Mall alone; 

My prettiest frocks and sashes 
Don't help to fill my programme-card, 

And vainly I repine 
From ten to two a.m. Ah me ! 

Would I were forty-nine. 

She calls me "darling," "pet," and "dear," 

And "sweet retiring maid." 
I'm always at the back, I know — 

She puts me in the shade. 
She introduces me to men — 

"Cast" lovers, I opine; 
For sixty takes to seventeen, 

Nineteen to forty-nine. 

But even She must older grow 

And end Her dancing days, 
She can't go on for ever so 

At concerts, balls, and plays. 
One ray of priceless hope I see 

Before my footsteps shine; 
Just think, that She'll be eighty-one 

When I am forty-nine! 



TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 

"\\71LL you conquer my heart with your beauty, my soul 

going out from afarr 
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautious 

shikar ? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 27 

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthink- 
ing, and blind? 

Shall I meet you next season at Simla, O sweetest and best 
of your kind? 

Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short 

frocks in the West, 
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture 

the heart in my breast? 

Will you stay in the Plains till September — my passion as 

warm as the day? 
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the 

thermantidotes play? 

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser 

lights I pursue, 
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of 

the gay "thirteen-two" 1 ; 

When the "peg" 2 and the pigskin shall please not; when I 

buy me Calcutta-built clothes; 
When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses, forswearing the 

swearing of oaths; 

As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid the 

gibes of my friends; 
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of 

the bachelor ends. 

Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow — as of old on Mars 

Hill when they raised 
To the God that they knew not an altar — so I, a young 

Pagan, have praised 

The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men 

tell me be true, 
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are 

written to you. 

1 Polo-pony. "Whisky and soda. 



28 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN 

[Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed exaggeration, this 

ought to reproduce the sense of what Sir A told the nation some time 

ago, when the Government struck from our incomes two per cent.] 

MOW the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, 
The Thoughtful Fisher casteth wide his Net; 
So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue 
Assail all Men for all that I can get. 

Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues — 
Lo! Salt a Lever that I dare not use, 

Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal — 
Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse 

Pay — and I promise by the Dust of Spring, 
Retrenchment. If my promises can bring 

Comfort, Ye have Them now a thousand-fold — 
By Allah! I will promise Anything I 

Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before 
I swore — but did I mean it when I swore? 

And then, and then, We wandered to the Hills, 
And so the Little Less became Much More. 

Whether at Boileaugunge or Babylon, 

I know not how the wretched Thing is done, 

The Items of Receipt grow surely small; 
The Items of Expense mount one by one. 

I cannot help it. What have I to do 

With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two? 

Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they please, 
Or Statesmen call me foolish — Heed not you. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 29 

Behold, I promise — Anything You will. 
Behold, I greet you with an empty Till — 

Ah! Fellow-Sinners, of your Charity 
Seek not the Reason of the Dearth but f. 11. 

For if I sinned and fell, where lies the Gain 

Of Knowledge? Would it ease you of your Pain 

To know the tangled Threads of Revenue, 
I ravel deeper in a hopeless Skein ? 

"Who hath not Prudence" — what was it I said, 
Of Her who paints Her Eyes and tires Her Head, 

And jibes and mocks the People in the Street, 
And fawns upon them for Her thriftless Bread? 

Accursed is She of Eve's daughters — She 
Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be 

Destruction. . . . Brethren, of your Bounty grant 
Some portion of your daily Bread to Me! 



PAGETT, M.P. 



The toad beneath the harrow knows 
Exactly where each tooth-point goes; 
The butterfly upon the road 
Preaches contentment to that toad. 



OAGETT, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith, — 
He spoke of the heat of India as "The Asian Solar 
Myth"; 

Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East" in No- 
vember, 

And I got him to make an agreement vowing to stay till 
September. 



3 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay, 
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princelv 

pay. 
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" 

said he. 
"Coming," said I to Pagett. " Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P. 

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat, — 
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat. 
He grew speckled and lumpy — hammered, I grieve to say, 
Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way. 

May set in with a dust-storm, — Pagett went down with the 

sun. 
All the delights of the season tickled him one by one. 
Imprimis — ten days' "liver" — due to his drinking beer; 
Later, a dose of fever — slight, but he called it severe. 

Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bursal — 
Lowered his portly person — made him yearn to depart. 
He didn't call me a "Brahmin," or "bloated," or "overpaid," 
But seemed to think it a wonder that any one ever stayed. 

July was a trifle unhealthy, — Pagett was ill with fear, 
Called it the "Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was dear. 
He babbled of "Eastern exile," and mentioned his home with 

tears; 
But I hadn't seen my children for close upon seven years. 

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon, 
[I've mentioned Pagett was portly] Pagett went off in a 

swoon. 
That was an end to the business. Pagett, the perjured, rled 
With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar Myths" in 

his head. 

1 The early rains. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 31 

And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died 

out on my lips 
As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their 

"Eastern trips," 
And the sneers of the travelled idiots who duly misgovern 

the land, 
And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand. 



LA NUIT BLANCHE 

A much-discerning Public hold 
The Singer generally sings 
Of personal and private things, 

And prints and sells his past for gold. 

Whatever I may here disclaim, 
The very clever folk I sing to 
Will most indubitably cling to 

Their pet delusion, just the same. 

T HAD seen, as dawn was breaking 

And I staggered to my rest, 
Tara Devi softly shaking 

From the Cart Road to the crest. 
I had seen the spurs of Jakko 

Heave and quiver, swell and sink. 
Was it Earthquake or tobacco, 

Day of Doom or Night of Drink? 

In the full, fresh, fragrant morning 

I observed a camel crawl, 
Laws of gravitation scorning, 

On the ceiling and the wall. 
Then I watched a fender walking. 

And I heard grey leeches sing, 
And a red-hot monkey talking 

Did not seem the proper thing. 



l &i 



32 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then a Creature, skinned and crimson, 

Ran about the floor and cried, 
And they said I had the "jims" on, 

And they, dosed me with bromide, 
And they locked me in my bedroom — 

Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse — 
Though I said: — "To give my head room 

"You had best unroof the house." 



But my words were all unheeded, 

Though I told the grave M.D. 
That the treatment really needed 

Was a dip in open sea 
That was lapping just below me, 

Smooth as silver, white as snow — 
And it took three men to throw me 

When I found I could not go. 

Half the night I watched the Heavens 

Fizz like '8i champagne — 
Fly to sixes and to sevens, 

Wheel and thunder back again; 
And when all was peace and order 

Save one planet nailed askew, 
Much I wept because my warder 

Would not let me set it true. 



After frenzied hours of waiting, 

When the Earth and Skies were dumb, 
Pealed an awful voice dictating 

An interminable sum, 
Changing to a tangled story — 

"What she said you said I said — " 
Till the Moon arose in glory, 

And I found her . . . in my head; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Then a Face came, blind and weeping, 

And It couldn't wipe Its eyes, 
And It muttered I was keeping 

Back the moonlight from the skies; 
So I patted It for pity, 

But It whistled shrill with wrath, 
And a huge, black Devil City 

Poured its peoples on my path. 



So I fled with steps uncertain 

On a thousand-year long race, 
But the bellying of the curtain 

Kept me always in one place, 
While the tumult rose and maddened 

To the roar of Earth on fire, 
Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened 

To a whisper tense as wire. 

In intolerable stillness 

Rose one little, little star, 
And it chuckled at my illness, 

And it mocked me from afar; 
And its brethren came and eyed me, 

Called the Universe to aid, 
Till I lay, with naught to hide me, 

'Neath the Scorn of All Things Made. 

Dun and saffron, robed and splendid 

Broke the solemn, pitying Day, 
And I knew my pains were ended, 

And I turned and tried to pray; 
But my speech was shattered wholly, 

And I wept as children weep, 
Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, 

Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 



34 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE LOVERS' LITANY 

Xp YES of grey — a sodden quay, 

Driving rain and falling tears, 
As the steamer puts to sea 
In a parting storm of cheers. 

Sing, for Faith and Hope are high — 
None so true as you and I — 
Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die /" 

Eyes of black — a throbbing keel, 
Milky foam to left and right; 
Whispered converse near the wheel 
In the brilliant tropic night. 

Cross that rules the Southern Sky ! 
Stars that sweep, and turn, and fly 
Hear the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die /" 

Eyes of brown — a dusty plain 
Split and parched with heat of June. 
Flying hoof and tightened rein, 
Hearts that beat the ancient tune. 
Side by side the horses fly, 
Frame we now the old reply 
Of the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die /" 

Eyes of blue — the Simla Hills 
Silvered with the moonlight hoar; 
Pleading of the waltz that thrills, 
Dies and echoes round Benmore. 
"Mabel," "Officers;' "Good-bye^ 
Glamour, wine, and witchery — 
On my soul's sincerity, 
"Love like ours can never die /" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 35 

Maidens, of your charity, 

Pity my most luckless state. 

Four times Cupid's debtor I — 

Bankrupt in quadruplicate. 
Yet, despite my evil case, 
An a maiden showed me grace, 
Four-and-forty times would I 
Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die /" 



A BALLAD OF BURIAL 

Saint Praxed's ever was the Church for peace. 

TF DOWN here I chance to die, 

Solemnly I beg you take 
All that is left of "I" 

To the Hills for old sake's sake. 
Pack me very thoroughly 

In the ice that used to slake 
Pegs I drank when I was dry — 

This observe for old sake's sake. 



To the railway station hie, 

There a single ticket take 
For Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall not mind delay or shake. 
I shall rest contentedly 

Spite of clamour coolies make; 
Thus in state and dignity 

Send me up for old sake's sake. 



36 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Next the sleepy Babu wake, 

Book a Kalka van "for four." 
Few, I think, will care to make 

Journeys with me any more 
As they used to do of yore. 

I shall need a "special brake" — 
'Thing I never took before — 

Get me one for old sake's sake. 

After that — arrangements make. 

No hotel will take me in, 
And a bullock's back would break 

'Neath the teak and leaden skin. 
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin, 

Or, did I a back-seat take, 
In a tonga I might spin, — 

Do your best for old sake's sake. 

After that — your work is done. 

Recollect a Padre must 
Mourn the dear departed one — 

Throw the ashes and the dust. 
Don't go down at once. I trust 

You will find excuse to "snake 
Three days' casual on the bust 1 ,"— 

Get your fun for old sake's sake. 

I could never stand the Plains. 

Think of blazing June and May, 
Think of those September rains 

Yearly till the Judgment Day! 
I should never rest in peace, 

I should sweat and lie awake. 
Rail me then, on my decease, 

To the Hills for old sake's sake! 
1 Three days' leave. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 37 

THE OVERLAND MAIL 

{Foot-service to the Hills.) 

TN THE name of the Empress of India, make way, 
O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam, 

The woods are astir at the close of the day — 
We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. 

Let the robber retreat — let the tiger turn tail — 

In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail! 



With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in, 
He turns to the footpath that heads up the hill — 

The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, 
And, tucked in his waistbelt, the Post Office bill;- 

" Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, 

"Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail." 



Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim. 

Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff. 
Does the tempest cry halt? What are tempests to him? 

The service admits not a "but" or an "if." 
While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail, 
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail. 



From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir, 
From level to upland, from upland to crest, 

From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur, 

Fly the soft-sandalled feet, strains the brawny, brown 
chest. 

From rail to ravine — to the peak from the vale — 

Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail. 



38 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road — 
A jingle of bells on the footpath below — 

There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode — 
The world is awake and the clouds are aglow. 

For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:— 

"In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!' 



DIVIDED DESTINIES 



I 



T WAS an artless Bandar 1 and he danced upon a pine, 
And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast 
might dine, 
And many many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke, 
I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar spoke. 

He said : — " O man of many clothes ! Sad crawler on the Hills ! 
"Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly 

bills! 
"I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress; 
"Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess. 

"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide 
" (For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain-side, 
"I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life 
"Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar s wife. 

"O man of futile fopperies — unnecessary wraps; 
"I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tallwheeled traps 
" I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings, 
"Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on 'pretty things.' 

" I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad; 
" But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord. 
"I never heard of fever — dumps nor debts depress my soul; 
"And I pity and despise you!" Here he pouched my break- 
fast-roll. 

' Monkev. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 39 

His hide was very mangey and his face was very red, 
And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head. 
His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried 
To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain-side! 

So I answered: — "Gentle Bandar^ an inscrutable Decree, 
"Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a wretched 

Me. 
"Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the 

pine; 
"Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot with 

thine." 



THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 

Argument. — The Indian Government being minded to discover the 
economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee to inquire into it; and 
saw that it was good. 

Scene. — The wooded heights of Simla. The Incarnation of 
the Government of India in the raiment of the Angel of Plenty 
sings ^ to pianoforte accompaniment: — 

"11JOW sweet is the shepherd's sweet life! 

From the dawn to the even he strays — 
He shall follow his sheep all the day 

And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 
{adagio dim.) Filled with praise!" 

(Jargendo con sp.) Now this is the position, 
Go make an inquisition 
Into their real condition 
As swiftly as ye may. 



4 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

(p) Ay, paint our swarthy billions 
The richest of vermillions 
Ere two well-led cotillions 

Have danced themselves away. 

Turkish Patrol, as able and intelligent Investigators wind 
down the Himalayas: — 

What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupation: 
Hi! get along, get along, get along — lend us the information! 

{dim?} Census the byle 1 and the yabu — capture a first-class 
Babu, 
Set him to file Gazetteers — Gazetteers . . . 

(JD What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc. 

Interlude, from Nowhere in Particular^ to stringed and 
Oriental instruments. 

Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear — 

The earth is iron and the skies are brass — 
And faint with fervour of the flaming air 

The languid hours pass. 

The well is dry beneath the village tree — 
The young wheat withers ere it reach a span, 

And belts of blinding sand show cruelly 
Where once the river ran. 

Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King — 
Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, 

Look westward — if they please, the Gods shall bring 
Their mercy with the rain. 

Look westward — bears the blue no brown cloud-bank? 

Nay, it is written — wherefore should we fly? 
On our own field and by our cattle's flank 

Lie down, lie down to die! 

: The ox and the pony. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 41 

Semi-Chorus 

By the plumed heads of Kings 

Waving high, 
Where the tall corn springs 

O'er the dead. 
If they rust or rot we die, 
If they ripen we are fed. 
Very mighty is the power of our Kings! 

Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators ', attired after 
the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub in wreaths 
of rhubarb-leaves, symbolical of India under medical treat- 
ment. They sing: — 

We have seen, we have written — behold it, the proof of our 

manifold toil! 
In their hosts they assembled and told it — the tale of the 

Sons of the Soil. 
We have said of the Sickness — "Where is it?" — and of Death 

— "It is far from our ken," — 
We have paid a particular visit to the affluent children of men. 
We have trodden the mart and the well-curb — we have 

stooped to the bield and the byre; 
And the King may the forces of Hell curb for the People 

have all they desire! 

Castanets and step-dance: — 

Oh, the dom l and the ?nag and the thakur and the thag y 

And the nat and the brinjaree, 
And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet 
And as plump as they can be! 
Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut, 

And the bounding bazugar, 
By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything, 

They are — they are — they are ! 

1 A list of various Indian tribes and castes. 



42 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Recitative, Government of India, with white satin wings 
and electro -plated harp: — 

How beautiful upon the Mountains — in peace reclining, 

Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously dining. 

And though there are places not so blessed as others in nat- 
ural advantages, which, after all, was only to be ex- 
pected, 

Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the work 
you have thus ably effected. 

{Cres.) How be-ewtiful upon the Mountains! 



Hired Band, brasses only, full chorus: — 

God bless the Squire 
And all his rich relations 
Who teach us poor people 
We eat our proper rations — 

We eat our proper rations, 

In spite of inundations, 

Malarial exhalations, 

And casual starvations, 
We have, we have, they say we havt 
We have our proper rations! 



Chorus of the Crystallised Facts 

Before the beginning of years 
There came to the rule of the State 
Men with a pair of shears, 
Men with an Estimate — 
Strachey with Muir for leaven, 
Lytton with locks that fell, 
Ripon fooling with Heaven, 
And Temple riding like H — 11! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 43 

And the bigots took in hand 

Cess and the falling of rain, 

And the measure of sifted sand 

The dealer puts in the grain — 

Imports by land and sea, 

To uttermost decimal worth, 

And registration — free — 

In the houses of death and of birth. 

And fashioned with pens and paper, 

And fashioned in black and white, 

With Life for a flickering taper 

And Death for a blazing light — ■ 

With the Armed and the Civil Power, 

That his strength might endure for a span — 

From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur, 

The Much Administered Man. 

In the towns of the North and the East, 

They gathered as unto rule, 

They bade him starve his priest 

And send his children to school. 

Railways and roads they wrought, 

For the needs of the soil within; 

A time to squabble in court, 

A time to bear and to grin. 

And gave him peace in his ways, 

Jails — and Police to fight, 

Justice — at length of days, 

And Right — and Might in the Right. 

His speech is of mortgaged bedding, 

On his kine he borrows yet, 

At his heart is his daughter's wedding, 

In his eye foreknowledge of debt. 

He eats and hath indigestion, 

He toils and he may not stop; 

His life is a long-drawn question 

Between a crop and a crop. 



44 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE MARE'S NEST 

JANE AUSTEN BEECHER STOWE DE ROUSE 

Was good beyond all earthly need; 
But, on the other hand, her spouse 

Was very, very bad indeed. 
He smoked cigars, called churches slow, 
And raced — but this she did not know. 

For Belial Machiavelli kept 

The little fact a secret, and, 
Though o'er his minor sins she wept, 

Jane Austen did not understand 
That Lilly — thirteen-two and bay — 
Absorbed one-half her husband's pay. 

She was so good she made him worse 

(Some women are like this, I think); 
He taught her parrot how to curse, 

Her Assam monkey how to drink. 
He vexed her righteous soul until 
She went up, and he went down hill. 

Then came the crisis, strange to say, 
Which turned a good wife to a better. 

A telegraphic peon, one day, 

Brought her — now, had it been a letter 

For Belial Machiavelli, I 

Know Jane would just have let it lie — 

But 'twas a telegram instead, 

Marked "urgent," and her duty plain 

To open it. Jane Austen read: — 
"Your Lilly's got a cough again. 

"'Can't understand why she is kept 

"At your expense." Jane Austen wept 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 45 

It was a misdirected wire, 

Her husband was at Shaitanpore. 
She spread her anger, hot as fire, 

Through six thin foreign sheets or more, 
Sent off that letter, wrote another 
To her solicitor — and mother. 

Then Belial Machiavelli saw 

Her error and, I trust, his own, 
Wired to the minion of the Law, 

And travelled wifeward — not alone. 
For Lilly — thirteen-two and bay — 
Came in a horse-box all the way. 

There was a scene — a weep or two — 

With many kisses. Austen Jane 
Rode Lilly all the season through, 

And never opened wires again. 
She races now with Belial . . . This 
Is very sad, but so it is. 



THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 

That night, when through the mooring-chains 

The wide-eyed corpse rolled free, 
To blunder down by Garden Reach 

And rot at Kedgeree, 
The tale the Hughli told the shoal 

The lean shoal told to me. 

'^jpWAS Fultah Fisher's boarding-house, 

Where sailor-men reside, 
And there were men of all the ports 

From Mississip to Clyde, 
And regally they spat and smoked, 

And fearsomely they lied. 



46 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They lied about the purple Sea 
That gave them scanty bread, 

They lied about the Earth beneath, 
The Heavens overhead, 

For they had looked too often on 
Black rum when that was red. 



They told their tales of wreck and wrong, 

Of shame and lust and fraud, 
They backed their toughest statements with 

The Brimstone of the Lord, 
And crackling oaths went to and fro 

Across the fist-banged board. 

And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 

Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
Who carried on his hairy chest 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 



And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, 

And Pamba the Malay, 
And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, 

And Luz from Vigo Bay, 
And Honest Jack who sold them slops 

And harvested their pay. 



And there was Salem Hardieker, 

A lean Bostonian he — 
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn, 

Yank, Dane, and Portuguee, 
At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 

They rested from the sea. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 47 

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks, 

Collinga knew her fame, 
From Tarnau in Galicia 

To Jaun Bazaar she came, 
To eat the bread of infamy 

And take the wage of shame. 



She held a dozen men to heel — 

Rich spoil of war was hers, 
In hose and gown and ring and chain, 

From twenty manners, 
And, by Port Law, that week, men called 

Her Salem Hardieker's. 



But seamen learnt — what landsmen know- 
That neither gifts nor gain 

Can hold a winking Light o' Love 
Or Fancy's flight restrain, 

When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes 
On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. 

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife, 

From Howrah to the Bay, 
And he may die before the dawn 

Who liquored out the day, 
In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 

We woo while yet we may. 



But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 

Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
And laughter shook the chest beneath 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 



4 x RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"You speak to Salem Hardieker; 

"You was his girl, I know. 
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see, 

"Und round the Skaw we go, 
"South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm, 

"To Besser in Saro." 



When love rejected turns to hate, 

All ill betide the man. 
"You speak to Salem Hardieker" — 

She spoke as woman can. 
A scream — a sob — "He called me — names! 

And then the fray began. 

x^n oath from Salem Hardieker, 

A shriek upon the stairs, 
A dance of shadows on the wall, 

A knife-thrust unawares — 
And Hans came down, as cattle drop, 

Across the broken chairs. 



In Anne of Austria's trembling hands 

The weary head fell low: — 
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight 

"For Besser in Saro; 
"Und there Ultruda comes to me 

"At Easter, und I go 

"South, down the Cattegat — What's here 
"There — are — no — lights — to — guide!" 

The mutter ceased, the spirit passed. 
And Anne of Austria cried 

In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 
When Hans the mighty died. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 49 

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 

Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
Hut Anne of Austria looted first 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 



POSSIBILITIES 

AY, LAY him 'neath the Simla pine — 
A fortnight fully to be missed, 
Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, 
A chair is vacant where we dine. 

His place forgets him; other men 

Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. 
His fortune is the Great Perhaps 

And that cool rest-house down the glen, 

Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, 
Our mundane revel on the height, 
Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw-light 

Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. 

Benmore shall woo him to the ball 
With lighted rooms and braying band; 
And he shall hear and understand 

"Dream Faces'" better than us all. 

For, think you, as the vapours flee 
Across Sanjaolie after rain, 
His soul may climb the hill again 

To each old field of victory. 



50 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Unseen, who women held so dear, 

The strong man's yearning to his kind 
Shall shake at most the window-blind, 

Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer. 

In his own place of power unknown, 
His Light o' Love another's flame, 
His dearest pony galloped lame, 

And he an alien and alone! 

Yet may he meet with many a friend — 
Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen 
Among us when "God save the Queen" 

Shows even "extras" have an end. 

And, when we leave the heated room, 
And, when at four the lights expire, 
The crew shall gather round the fire 

And mock our laughter in the gloom; 

Talk as we talked, and they ere death — 
Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise, 
With ghosts of tunes for melodies, 

And vanish at the morning's breath. 



ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER 

A GREAT and glorious thing it is 
To learn, for seven years or so, 
The Lord knows what of that and this, 

Ere reckoned fit to face the foe — 
The flying bullet down the Pass, 
That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 $r 

Three hundred pounds per annum spent 

On making brain and body meeter 
For all the murderous intent 

Comprised in 'Villainous saltpetre!" 
And after? — Ask the Yusufzaies 
What comes of all our 'ologies. 



A scrimmage in a Border Station — 
A canter down some dark defile — 

Two thousand pounds of education 
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail — 

The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, 

Shot like a rabbit in a ride! 



No proposition Euclid wrote 

No formulae the text-books know, 

Will turn the bullet from your coat, 
Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. 

Strike hard who cares — shoot straight who can- 

The odds are on the cheaper man. 

One sword-knot stolen from the camp 
Will pay for all the school expenses 

Of any Kurrum Valley scamp 

Who knows no word of moods and tenses, 

But, being blessed with perfect sight, 

Picks off our messmates left and right. 

With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem. 

The troopships bring us one by one, 
At vast expense of time and steam, 

To slay Afridis where they run. 
The " captives of our bow and spear " 
Are cheap, alas ! as we are dear. 



$2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 

(Lady Dufferin's Fund for medical aid to the Women of India) 

LJOW shall she know the worship we would do her? 

The walls are high and she is very far. 
How shall the women's message reach unto her 
Above the tumult of the packed bazaar? 

Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing, 
Bear thou our thanks lest she depart unknowing. 



Go forth across the fields we may not roam in, 
Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city 
To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in, 
Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity. 
Out of our shadow pass and seek her singing — 
"I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing." 



Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her, 

But old in grief, and very wise in tears: 
Say that we, being desolate, entreat her 
That she forget us not in after-years; 

For we have seen the light and it were grievous 
To dim that dawning if our Lady leave us. 



By Life that ebbed with none to staunch the failing, 

By Love's sad harvest garnered ere the spring, 
When Love in Ignorance wept unavailing 

O'er young buds dead before their blossoming; 

By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed, 
In past grim years declare our gratitude! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 53 

By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not, 
By gifts that found no favour in their sight, 
By faces bent above the babe that stirred not, 
By nameless horrors of the stifling night; 

By ills fordone, by peace her toils discover, 

Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above her! 

If she have sent her servants in our pain, 

If she have fought with Death and dulled his sword; 
If she have given back our sick again, 
And to the breast the weakling lips restored, 
Is it a little thing that she has wrought? 
Then Life and Death and Motherhood be nought. 

Go forth, O Wind, our message on thy wings, 

And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed, 
In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings, 
Who have been holpen by her in their need. 

All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat 
Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet. 

Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest! 

Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea 
Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confest, 
Of those in darkness by her hand set free, 
Then very softly to her presence move, 
And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love!" 



THE BETROTHED 

"You must choose between me and your cigar." Breach of Promise 
Case y circa, 1885 

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, 

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I 
are out. 



54 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We quarrelled about Havanas — we fought o'er a good 

cheroot, 
And / know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider a space; 

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face. 

Maggie is pretty to look at — Maggie's a loving lass, 
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves 
must pass. 

There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay; 
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away — 

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown — 
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the 
town! 

Maggie, my wife at fifty — grey and dour and old — 

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold! 

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days 

that Are, 
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead 

cigar — 

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your 

pocket — 
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to 

the socket ! 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider a while. 
Here is a mild Manilla — there is a wifely smile. 

Which is the better portion — bondage bought with a ring, 
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 55 

Counsellors cunning and silent — comforters true and tried, 
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride? 

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, 
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close, 

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return, 
With only a Suttee's passion — to do their duty and burn. 

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, 
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. 

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, 
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides 
again. 

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths 

withal, 
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall. 

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their 

hides, 
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the 

tale of my brides. 

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between 
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o* 
Teen. 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth 

clear, 
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year; 

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery 

light 
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and 

Work and Fight. 



5 6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must 

prove, 
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of 

Love. 

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged 

in the mire? 
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful 

fire? 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider anew — 

Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you? 

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; 
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. 

Light me another Cuba — I hold to my first-sworn vows. 

If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse! 



A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL 

ONE moment bid the horses wait, 
Since tiffin is not laid till three, 
Below the upward path and strait 
You climbed a year ago with me. 
Love came upon us suddenly 
And loosed — an idle hour to kill — 
A headless, harmless armoury 

That smote us both on Jakko Hill. 

Ah Heaven! we would wait and wait 
Through Time and to Eternity! 

Ah Heaven! we would conquer Fate 
With more than Godlike constancy! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 57 

I cut the date upon a tree — 
Here stand the clumsy figures still: — 
"10-7-85, A.D." 

Damp in the mists on Jakko Hill. 

What came of high resolve and great, 

And until Death fidelity? 
Whose horse is waiting at your gate? 

W 7 hose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me? 

No Saint's, I swear; and — let me see 

To-night what names your programme fill — ■ 
We drift asunder merrily, 

As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill ! 

L'Envoi 

Princess, behold our ancient state 

Has clean departed; and we see 
'Twas Idleness we took for Fate 

That bound light bonds on you and me. 

Amen! Here ends the comedy 

Where it began in all good will, 
Since Love and Leave together flee 

As driven mist on Jakko Hill! 



THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 

Too late, alas! the song 

To remedy the wrong; — 
The rooms are taken from us, swept and garnished for their fate, 

But these tear-besprinkled pages 

Shall attest to future ages 
That we cried against the crime of it — too late, alas! too late! 

VVTHAT have we ever done to bear this grudge?" 

Was there no room save only in Benmore 
For docket, duftar} and for office-drudge, 

That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor? 
"Office. 



58 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Must babus do their work on polished teak? 

Are ballrooms fittest for the ink you spill? 
Was there no other cheaper house to seek? 

You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill. 

We never harmed you! Innocent our guise, 

Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; 
And we revolved to divers melodies, 

And we were happy but a year ago. 
To-night, the moon that watched our lightsome wiles- 

That beamed upon us through the deodars — 
Is wan with gazing on official files, 

And desecrating desks disgust the stars. 

Nay! by the memory of tuneful nights — 

Nay! by the witchery of flying feet — 
Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights — 

By all things merry, musical, and meet — 
By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes — 

By wailing waltz — by reckless gallop's strain — 
By dim verandahs and by soft replies. 

Give us our ravished ballroom back again! 

Or — hearken to the curse we lay on you! 

The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain, 
And murmurs of past merriment pursue 

Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain; 
And when you count your poor Provincial millions, 

The only figures that your pen shall frame 
Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillions 

Danced out in tumult long before you came. 

Yea! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates, 
"Dream Faces" shall your heavy heads bemuse. 

Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates 
Our temple fit for higher, worthier use. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

And all the long verandahs, eloquent 
With echoes of a score of Simla years, 

Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment — 
Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears. 

So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, 
So shall you toil, and shall accomplish nought. 

And ever in your ears a phantom Band 
Shall blare away the staid official thought. 

Wherefore — and ere this awful curse be spoken, 
Cast out your swarthy sacrilegious train, 

And give — ere dancing cease and hearts be broken- 
Give us our ravished ballroom back again ! 



"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 

A SI left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely 
Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with 
fervour from afar; 
And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me 

kindly. 
That was all — the rest was settled by the clinking tonga-bar 1 . 
Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling- 
bar. 

For my misty meditation, at the second changing-station, 
Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar 
Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, double-hand staccato, 
Played on either pony's saddle by the clacking tonga-bar — 
Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, jolting 
bar. 

"She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere surely 

wild unreason 
" Such a tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star, 

x Bar of the old-fashioned curricle that took men up to Simla before the 
railroad was made. 



6o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"When she whispered, something sadly: 'I — -we feel your 
going badly!'" 

" And you let the chance escape you t" rapped the rattling 
tonga-bar. 

"What a chance and what an idiot I " clicked the vicious tonga- 
bar. 



Heart of man — O heart of putty! Had I gone by Kaka- 
hutti, 

On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that fatal car. 

But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the mile- 
stones slide by 

To — "You call on Her to-morrow I" fugue with cymbals by 
the bar — 

" You must call on Her to-morrow /" — post-horn gallop by the 
bar. 

Yet a further stage my goal on — we were whirling down to 
Solon, 

With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz 
und gar — 

"She was very sweet," I hinted. "If a kiss had been im- 
printed ? " 

'Would ha y saved a world of trouble!" clashed the busy 
tonga-bar. 

" 'Been accepted or rejected I" banged and clanged the tonga- 
bar. 

Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the income-tax's paring 
And a hasty thought of sharing — less than many incomes 

are — 
Made me put a question private, (you can guess what I would 

drive at.) 
"You must work the sum to prove it" clanked the careless 

tonga-bar. 
"Simple Rule of Two will prove it" lilted back the tonga-bar. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 61 

It was under Khyraghaut I mused: — "Suppose the maid be 
haughty — 

"There are lovers rich — and forty; wait some wealthy 
Avatar? 

"Answer, monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies twain per- 
spiring !" 

" l Faint heart never won fair lady" creaked the straining 
tonga-bar. 

"Can I tell you ere you ask Her?" pounded slow the tonga- 
bar. 



Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of Simla 

burning, 
Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far. 
As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart it 

tingled — 
Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga-bar: — 
"Try your luck — you cant do better I" twanged the loosened 

tonga-bar. 



CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 

P)IM dawn behind the tamarisks — the sky is saffron- 
yellow — 
As the women in the village grind the corn, 
And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling to his fellow 
That the Day, the staring Eastern Day, is born. 

O the white dust on the highway! O the stenches in 
the byway! 
O the clammy fog that hovers over earth! 
And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white 
and scarlet berry — 
What part have India's exiles in their mirth r 



62 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Full day behind the tamarisks — the sky is blue and staring — 

As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, 
And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or 
caring, 
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. 

Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly — ■ 

Call on Rama — he may hear, perhaps, your voice! 
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to 
other altars, 
And to-day we bid "good Christian men rejoice!" 



High noon behind the tamarisks — the sun is hot above 
us — 
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. 
They will drink our healths at dinner — those who tell us how 
they love us, 
And forget us till another year be gone! 

O the toil that knows no breaking! O the heimweh, 
ceaseless, aching! 
O the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! 
Youth was cheap — wherefore we sold it. Gold was 
good — we hoped to hold it. 
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain ! 



Grey dusk behind the tamarisks — the parrots fly together — 

As the Sun is sinking slowly over Home; 
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong 
tether 
That drags us back howe'er so far we roam. 

Hard her service, poor her payment — she in ancient, 
tattered raiment — 
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind. 
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine we enter, 
The door is shut — we may not look behind. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 63 

Black night behind the tamarisks — the owls begin their 
chorus — 
As the conches from the temple scream and bray. 
With the fruitless years behind us and the hopeless years 
before us, 
Let us honour, O my brothers, Christmas Day! 

Call a truce, then, to our labours — let us feast with 
friends and neighbours, 
And be merry as the custom of our caste; 
For, if "faint and forced the laughter," and if sadness 

follow after, 
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past. 



THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 



TH HERE'S a widow in sleepy Chester 

Who weeps for her only son; 
There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 

A grave that the Burmans shun y 
And there s Subadar Prag Tewarri 

Who tells how the work was done. 



A Snider squibbed in the jungle — 
Somebody laughed and fled, 

And the men of the First Shikaris 
Picked up their Subaltern dead, 

With a big blue mark in his forehead 
And the back blown out of his head. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri, 

Jemadar Hira Lai, 
Took command of the party, 

Twenty rifles in all, 
Marched them down to. the river 

As the day was beginning to fall. 



6 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They buried the boy by the river, 

A blanket over his face — 
They wept for their dead Lieutenant, 

The men of an alien race — 
They made a samadh 1 in his honour, 

A mark for his resting-place. 

For they swore by the Holy Water, 
They swore by the salt they ate, 

That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib 
Should go to his God in state; 

With fifty file of Burman 
To open him Heaven's Gate. 

The men of the First Shikaris 
Marched till the break of day, 

Till they came to the rebel village, 
The village of Pabengmay — 

Ajinga/ 2 covered the clearing, 
Calthrops hampered the way. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri, 

Bidding them load with ball, 
Halted a dozen rifles 

Under the village wall; 
Sent out a flanking-party 

With Jemadar Hira Lai. 

The men of the First Shikaris 

Shouted and smote and slew. 
Turning the grinning jingal 

On to the howling crew. 
The Jemadar's flanking-party 

Butchered the folk who flew. 

l A memorial -Native cannon. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 6s 

Long was the morn of slaughter, 

Long was the list of slain, 
Five score heads were taken, 

Five score heads and twain; 
And the men of the First Shikaris 

Went back to their grave again, 



Each man bearing a basket 

Red as his palms that day, 
Red as the blazing village — 

The village of Pabengmay. 
And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets 

Reddened the grass by the way. 

They made a pile of their trophies 

High as a tall man's chin, 
Head upon head distorted, 

Set in a sightless grin, 
Anger and pain and terror 

Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri 

Put the head of the Boh 
On the top of the mound of triumph, 

The head of his son below — 
With the sword and the peacock-banner 

That the world might behold and know. 

Thus the samadh was perfect, 

Thus was the lesson plain 
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris— 

The price of a white man slain; 
And the men of the First Shikaris 

Went back into camp again. 



66 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then a silence came to the river, 

A hush fell over the shore, 
And the Bohs that were brave departed, 

And Sniders squibbed no more; 

For the Burmans said 

That a white-man's head 
Must be paid for with heads five-score. 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester 
Who weeps for her only son; 

There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 
A grave that the Burmans shun, 

And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 
Who tells how the work was done. 



AN OLD SONG 

§0 LONG as 'neath the Kalka hills 

The tonga-horn shall ring, 
So long as down the Solon dip 
The hard-held ponies swing, 
So long as Tara Devi sees 

The lights of Simla town, 
So long as Pleasure calls us up, 
Or Duty drives us down, 
If you love me as I love you 
What pair so happy as we two ? 

So long as Aces take the King, 

Or backers take the bet, 
So long as debt leads men to wed, 

Or marriage leads to debt, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 67 

So long as little luncheons, Love, 
And scandal hold their vogue, 
While there is sport at Annandale 
Or whisky at Jutogh, 

If you love me as I love you 

What knife can cut our love in two ? 



So long as down the rocking floor 

The raving polka spins, 
So long as Kitchen Lancers spur 

The maddened violins, 
So long as through the whirling smoke 

We hear the oft-told tale — 
"Twelve hundred in the Lotteries," 

And Whatshername for sale? 
If you love me as I love you 
We'll play the game and win it too. 



So long as Lust or Lucre tempt 

Straight riders from the course, 
So long as with each drink we pour 

Black brewage of Remorse, 
So long as those unloaded guns 

We keep beside the bed, 
Blow off, by obvious accident, 

The lucky owner's head, 
If you love me as I love you 
What can Life kill or Death undo ? 



So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance 
Chills best and bravest blood, 

And drops the reckless rider down 
The rotten, rain-soaked khud y 



68 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

So long as rumours from the North 

Make loving wives afraid, 
So long as Burma takes the boy 
Or typhoid kills the maid, 
If you love me as I love you 
What knife can cut our love in two ? 

By all that lights our daily life 

Or works our lifelong woe, 
From Boileaugunge to Simla Downs 

And those grim glades below, 
Where, heedless of the flying hoof 

And clamour overhead, 
Sleep, with the grey langur for guard 

Our very scornful Dead, 
If you love mc as I love you 
All Earth is servant to us two ! 

By Docket, Billetdoux, and File, 

By Mountain, Cliff, and Fir, 
By Fan and Sword and Office-box, 

By Corset, Plume, and Spur 
By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, 

By Women, Work, and Bills, 
By all the life that fizzes in 

The everlasting Hills, 

If you love ?ne as I love you 
What pair so happy as we two ? 



CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 



P 



IT be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai, 
Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace ere he 
buy? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 69 

If She be pleasant to look on, what does the Young Man say? 
*'Ix)! She is pleasant to look on. Give Her to me to-day! " 



II 

Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum 
If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent, per 
annum. 

in 

Blister we not for bursati 1 ? So when the heart is vext, 
The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the pain of 
the next. 

IV 

The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and a new pi- 
ano's tune — 

Which of the three will you trust at the end of an Indian 
June? 



Who are the rulers of Ind — to whom shall we bow the knee ? 
Make your peace with the women, and men will make vou 
L. G. 2 

VI 

Does the woodpecker flit round the young jerash ? Does 

the grass clothe a new-built wall? 
Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a boy in her thrall? 



VII 

If She grow suddenly gracious — reflect. Is it all for thee? 
The blackbuck is stalked through the bullock, and Man 
through jealousy. 

*A skin disease of horses. 2 Lieutenant-Governor. 



7 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



VIII 



Seek not for favour of women. So shall you find it indeed. 
Does not the boar break cover just when you're lighting a 

weed ? 



IX 



If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of silver 
and gold, 

Take His money, my son, praising Allah. The kid was or- 
dained to be sold. 



With a "weed" among men or horses verily this is the best, 
That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly — but give 
him no rest. 

XI 

Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the manners 
and carriage; 

But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible thorn- 
bit of Marriage. 

XII 

As the thriftless gold of the babul 1 so is the gold that we spread 
On a Derby Sweep, or our neighbour's wife, or the horse 
that we buy from a friend. 

XIII 

The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple and 

tame 
To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or racing 

that same. 

1 Acacia. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 71 



XIV 

In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant Her smile 

when ye meet. 
It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the waves 

at their feet. 
In public Her face is averted, with anger She nameth thy 

name. 
It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the loss of the 

game? 

xv 

If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips are sealed, 

And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is the secret 
revealed. 

If She have written a letter, delay not an instant but burn it. 

Tear it in pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate shall re- 
turn it! 

If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the blackest 
can clear, 

Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear. 

XVI 

My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scufflingly bid thee give 

o'er, 
Yet lip meets with lip at the lastward. Get out! She has 

been there before. 
They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose who 

are lacking in lore. 

XVII 

If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof-slide is scarred 

on the course. 
Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth for ever 

Remorse. 



72 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

XVIII 

"By all I am misunderstood!" if the Matron shall say, or 
the Maid: — 

"Alas! I do not understand," my son, be thou nowise 
afraid. 

In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the Fowler dis- 
played. 

XIX 

My son, if I, Hafiz, thy father, take hold of thy knees in my 

pain, 
Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day or one 

hour — refrain. 
Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou cravest another 

man's chain? 



THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS 

T5ENEATH the deep verandah's shade, 

When bats begin to fly, 
I sit me down and watch — alas! 

Another evening die. 
Blood-red behind the sere ferash 1 

She rises through the haze. 
Sainted Diana! can that be 

The Moon of Other Days! 

Ah! shade of little Kitty Smith, 

Sweet Saint of Kensington! 
Say, was it ever thus at Home 

The Moon of August shone, 
When arm in arm we wandered long 

Through Putney's evening haze, 
And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath 

The Moon of Other Days? 

'Tamarisk. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 73 

But YVandle's stream is Sutlej now, 

And Putney's evening haze 
The dust that half a hundred kine 

Before my window raise. 
Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist 

The seething city looms, 
In place of Putney's golden gorse 

The sickly babul blooms. 

Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust, 

And bid the pie-dog yell, 
Draw from the drain its typhoid-germ, 

From each bazaar its smell; 
Yea, suck the fever from the tank 

And sap my strength therewith: 
Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face 

To little Kitty Smith! 



THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 

pHIS fell when dinner-time was done — 
'Twixt the first an' the second rub — 
That oor mon Jock cam' hame again 
To his rooms ahint the Club. 

An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang, 

An' syne we thocht him fou, 
An' syne he trumped his partner's trick, 

An' garred his partner rue. 

Then up and spake an elder mon, 

That held the Spade its Ace — 
u God save the lad! Whence comes the licht 

"That wimples on his face?" 



74 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled, 

An' ower the card-brim wunk: — 
"I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg, 

"May be that I am drunk." 

"There's whusky brewed in Galashiels 

"An' L. L. L. forbye; 
"But never liquor lit the lowe 

"That keeks fra' oot your eye. 

"There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat breast, 

"Aboon the heart a wee?" 
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye 

"That slobbers ower me." 

"Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts, 

"An' terrier dogs are fair, 
"But never yet was terrier born, 

"Wi' ell-lang gowden hair! 

4< There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast, 

"Below the left lappel?" 
"Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar, 

"Whenas the stump-end fell." 

"Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, 

"For ye are short o' cash, 
"An' best Havanas couldna leave 

"Sae white an' pure an ash. 

"This nicht ye stopped a story braid, 

"An' stopped it wi' a curse. 
"Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel' — 

"An' capped it wi' a worse! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 75 

"Oh! we're no foul Oh! we're no fou! 

"But plainly we can ken 
"Ye're fallin', fallin' fra the band 

"O' can tie single men!" 

An' it fell when sirris-shaws were sere, 

An* the nichts were lang and mirk, 
In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring, 

Oor Jockie gaed to the Kirk ! 



WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 

Queen Victoria s Jubilee. 
June 2ist, 1887 

DY THE well, where the bullocks go 

Silent and blind and slow — 
By the field, where the young corn dies 
In the face of the sultry skies, 
They have heard, as the dull Earth hears 
The voice of the wind of an hour, 
The sound of the Great Queen's voice: — 
"My God hath given me years, 
"Hath granted dominion and power: 
"And I bid you, O Land, rejoice." 

And the Ploughman settles the share 

More deep in the grudging clod; 

For he saith: — "The wheat is my care, 

"And the rest is the will of God. 

"He sent the Mahratta spear 

"As He sendeth the rain, 

"And the M/ech, 1 in the fated year, 

" Broke the spear in twain, 

'The foreigner. 



76 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"And was broken in turn. Who knows 
"How our Lords make strife? 
"It is good that the young wheat grows, 
"For the bread is Life." 



Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, 

Hissed up to the scornful dark 
Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue, 
That rose and faded, and rose anew, 

That the Land might wonder and mark. 
"To-day is a day of days," they said, 
"Make merry, O People, all!" 
And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head: 
"To-day and to-morrow God's will," he said, 
As he trimmed the lamps on the wall. 



"He sendeth us years that are good, 
"As He sendeth the dearth. 
"He giveth to each man his food, 
"Or Her food to the Earth. 
"Our Kings and our Queens are afar- 
"On their peoples be peace — 
"God bringeth the rain to the Bar, 
"That our cattle increase." 



And the Ploughman settled the share 

More deep in the sun-dried clod: — 

"Mogul, Mahratta, and Mlech from the North, 

"And White Queen over the Seas — 

"God raiseth them up and driveth them forth 

"As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze: 

"But the wheat and the cattle are all my care, 

"And the rest is the will of God." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 77 



THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 

"To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. How can he drink tea with the 
Executioner?" — Japanese Proverb. 

HPHE eldest son bestrides him, 

And the pretty daughter rides him, 
And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course; 
And there kindles in my bosom 
An emotion chill and gruesome 
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse. 



Neither shies he nor is restive, 

But a hideously suggestive 

Trot, professional and placid, he affects; 

And the cadence of his hoof-beats 

To my mind this grim reproof beats: — 

" Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?'* 



Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen, 

I have watched the strongest go — men 

Of pith and might and muscle — at your heels, 

Down the plantain-bordered highway, 

(Heaven send it ne'er be my way!) 

In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. 



Answer, sombre beast and dreary, 

Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, 

Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? 

You were at that last dread dak 1 

We must cover at a walk, 

Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse! 

! Stage of a journey. 



78 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

With your mane unhogged and flowing, 

And your curious way of going, 

And that businesslike black crimping of your tail, 

E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir, 

Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir, 

What wonder when I meet you I turn pale? 

It may be you wait your time, Beast, 

Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast — 

Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass — 

Follow after with the others, 

Where some dusky heathen smothers 

Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass. 

Or, perchance, in years to follow, 

I shall watch your plump sides hollow, 

See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse — 

See old age at last o'erpower you, 

And the Station Pack devour you, 

I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse! 

But to insult, jibe, and quest, I've 

Still the hideously suggestive 

Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text, 

And I hear it hard behind me 

In what place soe'er I find me: — 

" 'Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's the next?" 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
Lord Dufferin to Lord Lansdowne: — 

CO HERE'S your Empire. No more wine, then? Good. 

We'll clear the Aides and khitmutgars away. 
(You'll know that fat old fellow with the knife — 
He keeps the Name Book, talks in English, too, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1913 79 

And almost thinks himself the Government.) 

Youth, Youth, Youth! Forgive me, you're so young. 
Forty from sixty — twenty years of work 

And power to back the working. Ay de mi . 
You want to know, you want to see, to touch 
And, by your lights, to act. It's natural. 

1 wonder can I help you ? Let me try. 

You saw — what did you see from Bombay east? 

Enough to frighten any one but me? 

Neat that! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four! 

You shouldn't take a man from Canada 

And bid him smoke in powder-magazines; 

Nor with a Reputation such as — Bah! 

That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 

My Reputation now full-blown. Your fault! 

Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home, 

Who's up, who's down, who leads and who is led— 

One reads so much, one hears so little here. 

Well, now's your turn of exile. I go back 

To Rome and leisure. All roads lead to Rome. 

Or books — the refuge of the destitute. 

When you . . . that brings me back to India. See! 

Start clear. I couldn't. Egypt served my turn. 
You'll never plumb the Oriental mind, 
And if you did, it isn't worth the toil. 
Think of a sieek French priest in Canada; 
Divide by twenty half-breeds. Multiply 
By twice the Sphinx's silence. There's your East, 
And you're as wise as ever. So am I. 

Accept on trust and work in darkness, strike 
At venture, stumble forward, make your mark, 
(It's chalk on granite) then thank God no flame 
Leaps from the rock to shrivel mark and man. 
I'm clear — my mark is made. Three months of drouth 
Had ruined much. It rained and washed away 
The specks that might have gathered on my Name. 
I took a country twice the size of France, 



80 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And shuttered up one doorway in the North. 

I stand by those. You'll find that both will pay, 

I pledged my Name on both — they're yours to-night. 

Hold to them — they hold fame enough for two. 

I'm old, but I shall live till Burma pays. 

Men there — not German traders — Cr-sthw-te knows — 

You'll find it in my papers. For the North 

Guns always — quietly — but always guns. 

You've seen your Council? Yes, they'll try to rule, 

And prize their Reputations. Have you met 

A grim lay-reader with a taste for coins, 

And faith in Sin most men withhold from God? 

He's gone to England. R-p-n knew his grip 

And kicked. A Council always has its H-pes. 

They look for nothing from the West but Death 

Or Bath or Bournemouth. Here's their ground. 

They fight 
Until the Middle Classes take them back, 
One of ten millions plus a C. S. I., 
Or drop in harness. Legion of the Lost? 
Not altogether. Earnest, narrow men, 
But chiefly earnest, and they'll do your work, 
And end by writing letters to the Times. 
(Shall I write letters, answering H-nt-r — fawn 
With R-p-n on the Yorkshire grocers? Ugh!) 
They have their Reputations. Look to one — 
I work with him— the smallest of them all, 
White-haired, red-faced, who sat the plunging horse 
Out in the garden. He's your right-hand man, 
And dreams of tilting W-ls-y from the throne, 
But while he dreams gives work we cannot buy; 
He has his Reputation — wants the Lords 
By way of Frontier Roads. Meantime, I think, 
He values very much the hand that falls 
Upon his shoulder at the Council table — 
Hates cats and knows his business. Which is yours. 
Your business! Twice a hundred million souls. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 81 

Your business! I could tell you what I did 

Some nights of Eighty-five, at Simla, worth 

A Kingdom's ransom. When a big ship drives 

God knows to what new reef, the man at the wheel 

Prays with the passengers. They lose their lives, 

Or rescued go their way; but he's no man 

To take his trick at the wheel again. That's worse 

Than drowning. Well, a galled Mashobra mule 

(You'll see Mashobra) passed me on the Mall, 

And I was — some fool's wife had ducked and bowed 

To show the others I would stop and speak. 

Then the mule fell — three galls, a hand-breadth each, 

Behind the withers. Mrs. Whatsisname 

Leers at the mule and me by turns, thweet thoul! 

"How could they make him carry such a load!" 

I saw — it isn't often I dream dreams — 

More than the mule that minute — smoke and flame 

From Simla to the haze below. That's weak. 

You're younger. You'll dream dreams before you've done. 

You've youth, that's one; good workmen — that means two 

Fair chances in your favour. Fate's the third. 

I know what / did. Do you ask me, "Preach?" 

I answer by my past or else go back 

To platitudes of rule — or take you thus 

In confidence and say: — "You know the trick: 

"You've governed Canada. You know. You know!" 

And all the while commend you to Fate's hand 

(Here at the top one loses sight o' God), 

Commend you, then, to something more than you — 

The Other People's blunders and . . . that's all. 

I'd agonise to serve you if I could. 

It's incommunicable, like the cast 

That drops the hackle with the gut adry. 

Too much — too little — there's your salmon lost! 

And so I tell you nothing — wish you luck, 

And wonder — how I wonder! — for your sake! 

And triumph for my own. You're young, you're young, 



82 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

You hold to half a hundred Shibboleths. 

I'm old. I followed Power to the last, 

Gave her my best, and Power followed Me. 

It's worth it — on my soul I'm speaking plain, 

Here by the claret glasses! — worth it all. 

I gave — no matter what I gave — I win. 

I know I win. Mine's work, good work that lives! 

A country twice the size of France — the North 

Safeguarded. That's my record: sink the rest 

And better if you can. The Rains may serve, 

Rupees may rise — three pence will give you Fame — ■ 

It's rash to hope for sixpence ... If they rise 

Get guns, more guns, and lift the salt-tax. Oh! 

I told you what the Congress meant or thought? 

I'll answer nothing. Half a year will prove 

The full extent of time and thought you'll spare 

To Congress. Ask a Lady Doctor once 

How little Begums see the light — deduce 

Thence how the True Reformer's child is born. 

It's interesting, curious . . . and vile. 

I told the Turk he was a gentleman. 

I told the Russian that his Tartar veins 

Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred. 

The Congress doesn't purr. I think it swears. 

You're young — you'll swear too ere you've reached the end 

The End! God help you, if there be a God. 

(There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne's soul 

In that new land where all the wires are cut, 

And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.) 

God help you! And I'd help you if I could, 

But that's beyond me. Yes, your speech was crude. 

Sound claret after olives — yours and mine; 

But Medoc slips into vin ordinaire. 

(I'll drink my first at Genoa to your health) 

Raise it to Hock. You'll never catch my style. 

And, after all, the middle-classes grip 

The middle-class — for Brompton talk Karl's Courts 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 83 

Perhaps you're right. I'll see you in the Times — 

A quarter-column of eye-searing print, 

A leader once a quarter — then a war; 

The Strand a-bellow through the fog: — "Defeat!" 

"'Orrible slaughter!" While you lie awake 

And wonder. Oh, you'll wonder ere you're free! 

I wonder now. The four years slide away 

So fast, so fast, and leave me here alone. 

R — y, C-lv-n, L — 1, R-b-rts, B-ck, the rest, 

Princes and Powers of Darkness, troops and trains, 

(I cannot sleep in trains), land piled on land, 

Whitewash and weariness, red rockets, dust, 

White snows that mocked me, palaces — with draughts, 

And W-stl-nd with the drafts he couldn't pay. 

Poor W-ls-n reading his obituary 

Before he died, and H-pe, the man with bones, 

And A-tch-s-n a dripping mackintosh 

At Council in the Rains, his grating "Sirrr" 

Half drowned by H-nt-r's silky: "Bat my lahd." 

Hunterian always: M-rsh-1 spinning plates 

Or standing on his head; the Rent Bill's roar, 

A hundred thousand speeches, much red cloth, 

And Smiths thrice happy if I call them Jones, 

(I can't remember half their names) or reined 

My pony on the Mall to greet their wives. 

More trains, more troops, more dust, and then all's done . . . 

Four years, and I forget. If I forget, 

How will they bear me in their minds? The North 

Safeguarded — nearly (R-b-rts knows the rest), 

A country twice the size of France annexed. 

That stays at least. The rest may pass — may pass — 

Your heritage — and I can teach you naught. 

"High trust," "vast honour," "interests twice as vast," 

"Due reverence to your Council" — keep to those. 

I envy you the twenty years you've gained, 

But not the five to follow. What's that? One! 

Two! — Surely not so late. Good-night. Don't dream. 



84 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE GALLEY-SLAVE 

(~)H GALLANT was our galley from her carven steering- 
wheel 
To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel; 
The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air, 
But no galley on the waters with our galley could compare! 

Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped 

in gold — 
We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold; 
The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark swam 

below, 
As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made the 

galley go. 

It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then — 
If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought and loved 

like men! 
As we snatched her through the water, so we snatched a 

minuted bliss, 
And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lover's kiss. 

Our women and our children toiled beside us in the dark — 
They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved them to the 

shark — 
We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley sped 
We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn our dead. 

Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were 

we — 
The servants of the sweep-head, but the masters of the sea! 
By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged and 

yawed and sheered, 
Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything we 

feared? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 85 

Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder never blew; 

Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the galley 
struggle through. 

Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, Part- 
ing, Death? 

Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time for idle 
breath. 

But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my place; 
There's my name upon the deck-beam — let it stand a little 

space. 
I am free — to watch my messmates beating out to open 

main, 
Free of all that Life can offer — save to handle sweep again. 

By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging 

steel, 
By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that never 

heal; 
By eyes grown old with staring through the sunwash on the 

brine, 
I am paid in full for service. Would that service still were 

mine! 

Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the years bring 

forth, 
Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of the 

North. 
When the niggers break the hatches and the decks are gay 

with gore, 
And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the shore, 

She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or rocket- 
flare, 

When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her servants 
there. 



86 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Buttered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of years 
gone by, 

To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall lash them- 
selves and die. 

Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, shipped 

away — 
Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that day, 
When the skies are black above them, and the decks ablaze 

beneath, 
And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in 

their teeth. 

It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to row oncc 

more — 
Set some strong man free for fighting as I take awhile his 

oar. 
But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her service then ; 
God be thanked! Whate'er comes after, I have lived and 

toiled with Men! 



A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

\^f HERE the sober-coloured cultivator smiles 

On his byles; 
Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow 

Come and go; 
Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea, 

Hides and ghi; 
Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints 

In his prints; 
Stands a City — Charnock chose it — packed away 

Near a Bay — 
By the sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer 

Made impure, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 87 

By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp 

Moist and damp; 
And the City and the Viceroy, as we see, 

Don't agree. 



Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came 

Meek and tame. 
Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed, 

Till mere trade 
Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth 

South and North, 
Till the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 

Was his own. 
Thus the midday halt of Charnock — more's the pity ! 

Grew a City. 
As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, 

So it spread — 
Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built 

On the silt- 
Palace, byre, hovel — poverty and pride — 

Side by side; 
And, above the packed and pestilential town, 

Death looked down. 

But the Rulers in that City by the Sea 

Turned to flee — 
Fled, with each returning Spring-tide from its ills 

To the Hills. 
From the clammy fogs of morning, from the blaze 

Of the days, 
From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat, 

Beat retreat; 
For the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 

Was their own. 
But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain 

For his gain. 



.88 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Now the resting-place of Charnock, 'neath the palms, 

Asks an alms, 
And the burden of its lamentation is, 

Briefly, this: — 
"Because, for certain months, we boil and stew, 

"So should you. 
"Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire 

"In our fire!" 
And for answer to the argument, in vain 

We explain 
That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot cry: — 

"All must fry!" 
That the Merchant risks the perils of the Plain 

For his gain. 
Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow rich in, 

From its kitchen. 



Let the Babu drop inflammatory hints 

In his prints; 
And mature — consistent soul — his plan for stealing 

To Darjeeling: 
Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pile, 

England's isle; 
Let the City Charnock pitched on — evil day! — - 

Go Her way. 
Though the argosies of Asia at Her doors 

Heap their stores, 
Though her enterprise and energy secure 

Income sure, 
Though "out-station orders punctually obeyed" 

Swell Her trade — 
Stilly for rule, administration, and the rest, 

Simla's best! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 89 

IN SPRINGTIME 

\4Y GARDEN blazes brightly with the rose-bush and 
the peach, 
And the koil 1 sings above it, in the siris by the well, 
From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's chatter- 
ing speech, 
And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery 
sat-bhat 1 dwell. 
But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koiV s note is 
strange; 
I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened 
bough. 
Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of 
Springtime range — 
Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in Eng- 
land now! 



Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the brown fields 
blowing chill, 
From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance 
of the loam, 
And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the 
hill, 
And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights and 
sounds of Home. 
But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach 

is. 

Ah! koi/, little koi/, singing on the siris bough, 
In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell like speech 
is — 
Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in England 
now? 

J The Indian bell-bird. 2 Indian starlings. 



9o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



GIFFEN'S DEBT 



/ 



MPRIMIS he was ''broke." Thereafter left 
His Regiment and, later, took to drink; 
Then, having lost the balance of his friends, 
"Went Fantee" — joined the people of the land, 
Turned three parts Mussulman and one Hindu, 
And lived among the Gauri villagers, 
Who gave him shelter and a wife or twain. 
And boasted that a thorough, full-blood sahib 
Had come among them. Thus he spent his time, 
Deeply indebted to the village shroff 1 
(Who never asked for payment), always drunk, 
Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels; 
Forgetting that he was an Englishman. 

You know they dammed the Gauri with a dam, 

And all the good contractors scamped their work 

And all the bad material at hand 

Was used to dam the Gauri — which was cheap, 

And, therefore, proper. Then the Gauri burst, 

And several hundred thousand cubic tons 

Of water dropped into the valley, flop, 

And drowned some flve-and- twenty villagers, 

And did a lakh or two of detriment 

To crops and cattle. When the flood went down 

We found him dead, beneath an old dead horse, 

Full six miles down the valley. So we said 

He was a victim to the Demon Drink, 

And moralised upon him for a week, 

And then forgot him. W 7 hich was natural. 

But, in the valley of the Gauri, men 
Beneath the shadow of the big new dam, 
Relate a foolish legend of the flood, 

'Monev-lender. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 91 

Accounting for the little loss of life 

(Only those five-and- twenty villagers) 

In this wise: — On the evening of the flood, 

They heard the groaning of the rotten dam, 

And voices of the Mountain Devils. Then 

An incarnation of the local God, 

Mounted upon a monster-neighing horse, 

And flourishing a flail-like whip, came down, 

Breathing ambrosia, to the villages, 

And fell upon the simple villagers 

With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, 

And blows beyond the power of mortal hand, 

And smote them with his flail-like whip, and drove 

Them clamorous with terror up the hill, 

And scattered, with the monster-neighing steed, 

Their crazy cottages about their ears, 

And generally cleared those villages. 

Then came the water, and the local God, 

Breathing ambrosia, flourishing his whip, 

And mounted on his monster-neighing steed, 

Went down the valley with the flying trees 

And residue of homesteads, while they watched 

Safe on the mountain-side these wondrous things, 

And knew that they were much beloved of Heaven. 

Wherefore, and when the dam was newly built, 

They raised a temple to the local God, 

And burnt all manner of unsavoury things 

Upon his altar, and created priests, 

And blew into a conch and banged a bell, 

And told the story of the Gauri flood 

With circumstance and much embroidery, . . . 

So he, the whiskified Objectionable, 

Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels, 

Became the tutelary Deity 

Of all the Gauri valley villages, 

And may in time become a Solar Myth. 



92 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

TWO MONTHS 

June 

"M"0 HOPE, no change! The clouds have shut us in, 
And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down 
Full on the bosom of the tortured Town, 
Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin 
That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease, 
And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in spite 
Glares through the haze and mocks with watery light 
The torment of the uncomplaining trees. 
Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair 
To echoing Earth, thrice parched. The lightnings fly 
In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, 
But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. 
What truce with Dawn? Look, from the aching sky, 
Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword! 

September 

AT DAWN there was a murmur in the trees, 
A ripple on the tank, and in the air 

Presage of coming coolness — everywhere 
A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. 
Up leapt the Sun and smote the dust to gold, 

And strove to parch anew the heedless land, 
All impotently, as a King grown old 

Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his hand 

One after one the lotos-petals fell, 

Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year, 

In mutiny against a furious sky; 

And far-off Winter whispered: — "It is well! 

"Hot Summer dies. Behold your help is near, 

"For when men's need is sorest, then come L" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 93 

L'ENVOI 

(Departmental Ditties) 

/ T" V HE smoke upon your Altar dies, 

The flowers decay, 
The Goddess of your sacrifice 

Has flown away. 
What profit then to sing or slay 
The sacrifice from day to day? 



"We know the Shrine is void/' they said, 

"The Goddess flown — 
"Yet wreaths are on the altar laid — 

"The Altar-Stone 
"Is black with fumes of sacrifice, 
"Albeit She has fled our eyes. 



*For, it may be, if still we sing 

"And tend the Shrine, 
"Some Deity on wandering wing 

"May there incline; 
"And, finding all in order meet, 
"Stay while we worship at Her feet." 



THE FIRES 

(Prelude to Collected Verse) 

A/TEN make them fires on the hearth 

Each under his roof-tree. 
And the Four Winds that rule the earth 
They blow the smoke to me. 



94 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Across the high hills and the sea 
And all the changeful skies, 

The Four Winds blow the smoke to me 
Till the tears are in my eyes. 

Until the tears are in my eyes 
And my heart is wellnigh broke 

For thinking on old memories 
That gather in the smoke. 

With every shift of every wind 
The homesick memories come. 

From every quarter of mankind 
Where I have made me a home. 



Four times afire against the cold 
And a roof against the rain — 

Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold 
The Four Winds bring again I 

How can I answer which is best 
Of all the fires that burn ? 

I have been too often host or guest 
At every fire in turn. 

How can I turn from any far, 
On any mans hearthstone ? 

I know the wonder and desire 
That went to build my own ! 

How can I doubt man s joy or woe 
Where'er his house-fires shine, 

Since all that man must undergo 
Will visit me at mine ? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 95 

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong 

And know that this is true, 
Stoop for a little and carry my song 

To all the men I knew! 



Where there are fires against the cold, 
Or roofs against the rain — 

With love fourfold and joy fourfold, 
Take them my songs again! 



DEDICATION FROM -BARRACK ROOM 
BALLADS" 

"DEYOND the path of the outmost sun through utter 

darkness hurled — 
Farther than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled — - 
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made 

our world. 



They are purged of pride because they died, they know the 

worth of their bays; 
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the 

Elder Days — 
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth Our Father's praise. 



'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where AzraePs 

outposts are, 
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes 

out to war, 
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red- 

maned star. 



96 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth — they dare not 

grieve for her pain. 
They know of toil and the end of toil; they know God's Law 

is plain; 
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that 

Sin is vain. 



And oft-times cometh our wise Lord God, master of every 
trade, 

And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made; 

And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen un- 
afraid. 

To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust 

and Shame — 
Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped 

to Fame — 
Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother's 

spirit came. 

He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of 

Earth — 
E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth, 
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth. 

So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high 
And made him place at the banquet board — the Strong Men 

ranged thereby, 
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear 

to die. 

Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness 

hurled, 
Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled, 
Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served 

His world. 



V 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 97 

TO THE TRUE ROMANCE 

1 893 

r T f HY face is jar from this our war, &~ 

Our call and counter-cry , Ar 
I shall not find Thee quick and kind, 

Nor know Thee till I die. Js 
Enough forme in dreams to see &L 

And touch Thy garments* hem: 
Thy feet have trod so near to God 

J. may not follow them ! .fc. 

Through wantonness if men profess 

They weary of Thy parts, 
E'en let them die at blasphemy 

And perish with their arts; 
But we that love, but we that prove 

Thine excellence august, 
While we adore, discover more 

Thee perfect, wise, and just. 

Since spoken word Man's Spirit stirred 

Beyond his belly-need, 
What is is Thine of fair design 

In Thought and Craft and Deed. 
Each stroke aright of toil and fight, 

That was and that shall be, 
And hope too high wherefore we die, 

Has birth and worth in Thee. 

Who holds by Thee hath Heaven in fee 

To gild his dross thereby, 
And knowledge sure that he endure 

A child until he die — 



98 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For to make plain that man's disdain 

Is but new Beauty's birth — 
For to possess in singleness 

The joy of all the earth. 

As Thou didst teach all lovers speech 

And Life all mystery, 
/So shalt Thou rule by every school 

Till life and longing die, / 
Who wast or yet the Lights were set, 

A whisper in the Void, 
Who shalt be sung through planets young 

WherPthis is clean destroyed. 

Beyond the bounds our staring rounds, 

Across the pressing dark, 
The children wise of outer skies 

Look hitherward and mark 
A light that shifts, a glare that drifts, 

Rekindling thus and thus, 
Not all forlorn, for Thou hast borne 

Strange tales to them of us. 

Time hath no tide but must abide 

The servant of Thy will; 
Tide hath no time, for to Thy rhyme 

The ranging stars stand still- 
Regent of spheres that lock our fears 

Our hopes invisible, 
Oh 't was certes at Thy decrees 

We fashioned Heaven and HelU 

Pure Wisdom hath no certain path 
That lacks thy morning-eyne, 

And Captains bold by Thee controlled 
Most like to Gods design. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 99 

Thou art the Voice to kingly hoys 

To lift them through the fight, 
And Comfortress of Unsuccess, 

To give the Dead good-night. 

A veil to draw 'twixt God His Law 

And Man's infirmity, 
A shadow kind to dumb and blind 

The shambles where we die; 
A rule to trick th' arithmetic, 

Too base, of leaguing odds — 
The spur of trust, the curb of lust, 

Thou handmaid of the Gods! 

O Charity, all patiently 
Abiding wrack and scaith! 

Faith, that meets ten thousand cheats 
Yet drops no jot of faith! 

Devil and brute Thou dost transmute 

To higher, lordlier show, 
Who art in sooth that lovely Truth 

The careless angels know! 

Thy face is jar from this our war. 
Our call and counter-cry, 

1 may not find Thee quick and kind, 
Nor know Thee till I die. 



Yet may I look with heart unshook 

On blow brought home or missed- 
Yet may I hear with equal ear 

The clarions down the List; 
Yet set my lance above mischance 

And ride the barriere — 
Oh, hit or miss, how little V is, 

My Lady is not there ! 



ioo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL 

1896 

CPEAKIN' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all — 

The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world. 
Speakin' in general, I 'ave found them good 
For such as cannot use one bed too long, 
But must get 'ence, the same as I 'ave done, 
An' go observin' matters till they die. 

What do it matter where or ow we die, 

So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all — 

The different ways that different things are done. 

An' men an' women lovin' in this world; 

Takin' our chances as they come along, 

An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good? 

In cash or credit — no, it aren't no good; 
You 'ave to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die, 
Unless you lived your life but one day long, 
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all, 
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world, 
An* never bothered what you might ha' done. 

But, Gawd, what things are they I 'aven't done! 
I've turned my 'and to most, an' turned it good, 
In various situations round the world — 
For 'im that doth not work must surely die; 
But that's no reason man should labour all 
'Is life on one same shift — life's none so long. 

Therefore, from job to job I've moved along. 
Pay couldn't 'old me when my time was done, 
For something in my 'ead upset it all, 



■k 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 101 

Till I 'ad dropped whatever 't was for good, 

An', out at sea, be'eld the dock-lights die, 

An' met my mate — the wind that tramps the world! 

It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world, 
Which you can read and care for just so long, 
But presently you feel that you will die 
Unless you get the page you're readin' done, 
An' turn another — likely not so good; 
But what you're after is to turn 'em all. 

Gawd bless this world! Whatever she 'ath done — 
Excep' when awful long — I've found it good. 
So write, before I die, '"E liked it all!" 



THE MIRACLES 

1894 

T SENT a message to my dear — 

A thousand leagues and more to Her- 
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear, 
And Lost Atlantis bore to Her! 

Behind my message hard I came, 
And nigh had found a grave for me; 

But that I launched of steel and flame 
Did war against the wave for me. 

Uprose the deep, in gale on gale, 
To bid me change my mind again — 

He broke his teeth along my rail, 
And, roaring, swung behind again. 






io2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I stayed the sun at noon to tell 
My way across the waste of it; 

I read the storm before it fell 
And made the better haste of it. 



Afar, I hailed the land at night — 

The towers I built had heard of me — 

And, ere my rocket reached its height, 
Had flashed mv Love the word of me. 



Earth sold her chosen men of strength 
(They lived and strove and died for me; 

To drive my road a nation's length, 
And toss the miles aside for me. 



I snatched their toil to serve my needs — 
Too slow their fleetest flew for me. 

I tired twenty smoking steeds, 
And bade them bait a new for me. 



I sent the Lightnings forth to see 
Where hour by hour She waited me. 

Among ten million one was She, 
And surely all men hated me! 



Dawn ran to meet me at my goal — 
Ah, day no tongue shall tell again 

And little folk of little soul 
Rose up to buy and sell again ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 103 

SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN 



V^HEN the darkened Fifties dip to the North, 

And frost and the fog divide the air, 
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth, 
Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear! 

Far to Southward they wheel and glance, 
The million molten spears of morn — 

The spears of our deliverance 

That shine on the house where we were born. 



Flying-fish about our bows, 

Flying sea-fires in our wake: 
This is the road to our Father's House, 

Whither we go for our souls' sake! 

We have forfeited our birthright, 

We have forsaken all things meet; 
We have forgotten the look of light, 

We have forgotten the scent of heat. 

They that walk with shaded brows, 

Year by year in a shining land, 
They be men of our Father's House, 

They shall receive us and understand. 

We shall go back by the boltless doors, 

To the life unaltered our childhood knew — 

To the naked feet on the cool, dark floors, 

And the high-ceiled rooms that the Trade blows through: 



io 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To the trumpet-flowers and the moon beyond, 
And the tree-toad's chorus drowning all — 

And the lisp of the split banana-frond 

That talked us to sleep when we were small. 

The wayside magic, the threshold spells, 
Shall soon undo what the North has done — 

Because of the sights and the sounds and the smells 
That ran with our youth in the eye of the sun. 

And Earth accepting shall ask no vows, 

Nor the Sea our love, nor our lover the Sky. 

When we return to our Father's House 
Only the English shall wonder why! 



ZION 

i 9 i 4 - i 8 

ITIE Doorkeepers of Zion, 
They do not always stand 

In helmet and whole armour, 

With halberds in their hand; 
But, being sure of Zion, 

And all her mysteries, 
They rest awhile in Zion, 
Sit down and smile in Zion; 
Ay, even jest in Zion; 

In Zion, at their ease. 

The Gatekeepers of Baal, 
They dare not sit or lean, 

But fume and fret and posture 
And foam and curse between; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 105 

For being bound to Baal, 

Whose sacrifice is vain, 
Their rest is scant with Baal, 
They glare and pant for Baal, 
They mouth and rant for Baal, 

For Baal in their pain! 

But we will go to Zion, 

By choice and not through dread, 
With these our present comrades 

And those our present dead; 
And, being free of Zion 

In both her fellowships, 
Sit down and sup in Zion — 
Stand up and drink in Zion 
Whatever cup in Zion 

Is offered to our lips! 



BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA 

1892 

" And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura 1 * 

f^\ YE who tread the Narrow Way 

By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, 
Be gentle when "the heathen" pray 
To Buddha at Kamakura! 

To him the Way, the Law, apart, 
Whom Maya held beneath her heart, 
Ananda's Lord, the Bodhisat, 
The Buddha of Kamakura. 



o6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For though he neither burns nor sees, 
Nor hears ye thank your Deities, 
Ye have not sinned with such as these, 
His children at Kamakura, 

Yet spare us still the Western joke 
When joss-sticks turn to scented smoke 
The little sins of little folk 
That worship at Kamakura — 

The grey-robed, gay-sashed butterflies 
That flit beneath the Master's eyes. 
He is beyond the Mysteries 
But loves them at Kamakura. 

And whoso will, from Pride released, 
Contemning neither creed nor priest, 
May feel the Soul of all the East 
About him at Kamakura. 

Yea, every tale Ananda heard, 
Of birth as fish or beast or bird, 
While yet in lives the Master stirred, 
The warm wind brings Kamakura. 

Till drowsy eyelids seem to see 

A-flower 'neath her golden htee 

The Shwe-Dagon flare easterly 

From Burmah to Kamakura, 

And down the loaded air there comes 
The thunder of Thibetan drums, 
And droned — "Om mane padme hums 1 
A world's-width from Kamakura. 
'The Buddhist invocation. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 107 

Yet Brahmans rule Benares still, 

Buddh-Gaya's ruins pit the hill, 

And beef-fed zealots threaten ill 

To Buddha and Kamakura. 

A tourist-show, a legend told, 
A rusting bulk of bronze and gold, 
So much, and scarce so much, ye hold 
The meaning of Kamakura? 

But when the morning prayer is prayed, 
Think, ere ye pass to strife and trade, 
Is God in human image made 
No nearer than Kamakura? 



THE GREEK NATIONAL ANTHEM 



^E KNEW thee of old, 

Oh divinely restored, 
By the light of thine eyes 
And the light of thy Sword. 

From the graves of our slain 
Shall thy valour prevail 

As we greet thee again — 
Hail, Liberty! Hail! 

Long time didst thou dwell 
Mid the peoples that mourn, 

A waiting some voice 
That should bid thee return. 



108 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Ah, slow broke that day 
And no man dared call, 

For the shadow of tyranny- 
Lay over all: 

And we saw thee sad-eyed, 
The tears on thy cheeks 

While thy raiment was dyed 
In the blood of the Greeks. 

Yet, behold now thy sons 
With impetuous breath 

Go forth to the fight 

Seeking Freedom or Death. 

From the graves of our slain 
Shall thy valour prevail 

As we greet thee again 
Hail, Liberty! Hail! 



THE SEA-WIFE 

i 893 

'ITHERE dwells a wife by the Northern Gate, 

And a wealthy wife is she; 
She breeds a breed o' rovin' men 
And casts them over sea. 

And some are drowned in deep water, 

And some in sight o' shore, 
And word goes back to the weary wife 

And ever she sends more. 



(fry 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 109 

For since that wife had gate or gear, 

Or hearth or garth or field, 
She willed her sons to the white harvest, 

And that is a bitter yield. 

She wills her sons to the wet ploughing, 

To ride the horse of tree; 
And syne her sons come back again 

Far-spent from out the sea. 

The good wife's sons come home again 

With little into their hands, 
But the lore of men that have dealt with men 

In the new and naked lands; 



But the faith of men that have brothered men 

By more than easy breath, 
And the eyes o' men that have read with men 

In the open books of Death. 

Rich are they, rich in wonders seen, 

But poor in the goods o' men; 
So what they have got by the skin of their teeth 

They sell for their teeth again. 

And whether they lose to the naked life 

Or win to their hearts' desire, 
They tell it all to the weary wife 

That nods beside the fire. 

Her hearth is wide to every wind 

That makes the white ash spin; 
And tide and tide and 'tween the tides 

Her sons go out and in; 



no RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

(Out with great mirth that do desire 

Hazard of trackless ways — 
In with content to wait their watch 

And warm before the blaze); 

And some return by failing light, 

And some in waking dream, 
For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts 

That ride the rough roof-beam. 

Home, they come home from all the ports, 

The living and the dead; 
The good wife's sons come home again 

For her blessing on their head ! 



THE BROKEN MEN 

1902 

pOR things we never mention, 

For Art misunderstood — 
For excellent intention 

That did not turn to good; 
From ancient tales' renewing, 

From clouds we would not clear- 
Beyond the Law's pursuing 

We fled, and settled here. 

We took no tearful leaving, 

We bade no long good-byes; 
Men talked of crime and thieving, 

Men wrote of fraud and lies. 
To save our injured feelings 

'T was time and time to go — 
Behind was dock and Dartmoor, 

Ahead lay Callao! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

The widow and the orphan 

That pray for ten per cent, 
They clapped their trailers on us 

To spy the road we went. 
They watched the foreign sailings 

(They scan the shipping still), 
And that's your Christian people 

Returning good for ill! 



God bless the thoughtful islands 

Where never warrants come; 
God bless the just Republics 

That give a man a home, 
That ask no foolish questions, 

But set him on his feet; 
And save his wife and daughters 

From the workhouse and the street! 



On church and square and market 

The noonday silence falls; 
You'll hear the drowsy mutter 

Of the fountain in our halls. 
Asleep amid the yuccas 

The city takes her ease — 
Till twilight brings the land-wind 

To the clicking jalousies. 

Day long the diamond weather, 

The high, unaltered blue — 
The smell of goats and incense 

And the mule-bells tinkling through. 
Day long the warder ocean 

That keeps us from our kin, 
And once a month our levee 

When the English mail comes in. 



ii2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

You'll find us up and waiting 

To treat you at the bar; 
You'll find us less exclusive 

Than the average English are. 
We'll meet you with a carriage, 

Too glad to show you round, 
But — we do not lunch on steamers, 

For they are English ground. 

We sail o' nights to England 

And join our smiling Boards — 
Our wives go in with Viscounts 

And our daughters dance with Lords : 
But behind our princely doings, 

And behind each coup we make, 
We feel there's Something Waiting, 

And — we meet It when we wake. 

Ah God! One sniff of England — 

To greet our flesh and blood — 
To hear the traffic slurring 

Once more through London mud! 
Our towns of wasted honour— 

Our streets of lost delight! 
How stands the old Lord Warden? 

Are Dover's cliffs still white? 



GETHSEMANE 

i 9 i 4- i 8 

*"pHE Garden called Gethsemane 

In Picardy it was, 
And there the people came to see 
The English soldiers pass. 



^■> 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 113 

We used to pass — we used to pass 

Or halt, as it might be, 
And ship our masks in case of gas 

Beyond Gethsemane. 

The Garden called Gethsemane, 

It held a pretty lass, 
But all the time she talked to me 

I prayed my cup might pass. 
The officer sat on the chair, 

The men lay on the grass, 
And all the time we halted there 

I prayed my cup might pass. 

It didn't pass — it didn't pass — 

It didn't pass from me. 
I drank it when we met the gas 

Beyond Gethsemane. 



THE SONG OF THE BANJO 

1 894 

"VTOU couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile — 
You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp — 
You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile, 
And play it in an Equatorial swamp. 
/ travel with the cooking-pots and pails — 
I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork — 
And when the dusty column checks and tails, 

You should hear me spur the rearguard to a walk! 

With my " Pilly-willy-winky-winky-popp /" 
[Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!] 

So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop; 
So I play 'em up to water and to bed. 



ii 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

In the silence of the camp before the fight, 

When it's good to make your will and say your prayer, 
You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight, 

Explaining ten to one was always fair. 
I'm the Prophet of the Utterly Absurd, 

Of the Patently Impossible and Vain — 
And when the Thing that Couldn't has occurred, 

Give me time to change my leg and go again. 



With my " Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tump /" 

In the desert where the dung-fed camp-smoke curled. 

There was never voice before us till I led our lonely 
chorus, 
I — the war-drum of the White Man round the world! 



By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread, 

Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own, — 
'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed, 

In the silence of the herder's hut alone — 
In the twilight, on a bucket upside down, 

Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess — 
I am Memory and Torment — I am Town! 

I am all that ever went with evening dress! 

With my "Tunka-tunka-tunka-tunka-tunkl" 

[So the lights — the London Lights — grow near and 
plain!] 

So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Fiesh, 
Till I bring my broken rankers home again. 



In desire of many marvels over sea, 

Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars, 
I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay 

Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 n 

He is blooded to the open and the sky, 

He is taken in a snare that shall not fail, 
He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, 

Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale. 



With my " Hya ! Heeya ! Heeya ! Hullah ! Haul T 
[Oh the green that thunders aft along the deck!] 

Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and 
sail again, 
For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!" 



Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear- 
Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel — 

Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer — 
Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal: 

Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow, 
Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine. 

Hear me lead my reckless children from below 
Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine! 



With my " Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink !" 

[Oh the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!] 
And we ride the iron stallions down to drink, 

Through the canons to the waters of the West! 



And the tunes that mean so much to you alone — 

Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose, 
Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan — 

I can rip your very heartstrings out with those; 
With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun — 

And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink, 
And the merry play that drops you, when you're done, 

To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think. 



n6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

With my " Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk I" 
Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, 

Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your 
sin 
And — the heavier repentance at the last! 

Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof — 

I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man ! 
Let the trumpet snare the foeman to the proof — 

I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran! 
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake 

When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, 
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make, 

Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings? 

With my " Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp /" 

[Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?] 

But the word — the word is mine, when the order moves 
the line 
And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die! 

The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre — 

[O the blue below the little fisher-huts!] 
That the Stealer stooping beachward filled with fire, 

Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts! 
By the wisdom of the centuries I speak — 

To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth — 
I, the joy of life unquestioned — I, the Greek — 

I, the everlasting Wonder-song of Youth! 

With my " Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tmk !" 

[What d' ye lack, my noble masters? What d'ye 
lack?] 

So I draw the world together link by link: 
Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 117 

THE SPIES* MARCH 

1 9 1 3 

("The outbreak is in full swing and our death-rate would sicken Napoleon. 

. . . Dr. M died last week, and C on Monday, but some more 

medicines are coming. . . . We don't seem to be able to check it at 
all. . . . Villages panicking badly. ... In some places not a liv- 
ing soul. . . . But at any rate the experience gained may come in 
useful, so I am keeping my notes written up to date in case of accidents. 
. . . Death is a queer chap to live with for steady company." — Extract 
from a private letter from Manchuria.) 

PHERE are no leaders to lead us to honour, and yet with- 
out leaders we sally, 
Each man reporting for duty alone, out of sight, out of 

reach, of his fellow. 
There are no bugles to call the battalions, and yet without 

bugle we rally 
From the ends of the earth to the ends of the earth, to follow 
the Standard of Yellow! 

Fall in ! O/all in ! Of all in ! 

Not where the squadrons mass, 

Not where the bayonets shine, 
Not where the big shell shout as they pass 

Over the firing-line; 
Not where the wounded are, 

Not where the nations die, 
Killed in the cleanly game of war — 

That is no place for a spy! 
O Princes, Thrones and Powers, your work is less than ours — 

Here is no place for a spy! 

Trained to another use, 

We march with colours furled, 
Only concerned when Death breaks loose 

On a front of half a world. 



n8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Only for General Death 

The Yellow Flag may fly, 
While we take post beneath — 

That is the place for a spy. 
Where Plague has spread his pinions over Nations and 

Dominions — 
Then will be work for a spy ! 

The dropping shots begin, 

The single funerals pass, 
Our skirmishers run in, 

The corpses dot the grass! 
The howling towns stampede, 

The tainted hamlets die. 
Now it is war indeed — 

Now there is room for a spy! 
O Peoples, Kings and Lands, we are waiting your com- 
mands — 
What is the work for a spy ? 

(Drums) — Fear is upon us y spy! 



"Go where his pickets hide — 

Unmask the shape they take, 
Whether a gnat from the waterside, 

Or a stinging fly in the brake, 
Or filth of the crowded street, 

Or a sick rat limping by, 
Or a smear of spittle dried in the heat — 

That is the work of a spy! 

(Drums) — Death is upon us, spy ! 



" What does he next prepare ? 

Whence will he move to attack? — 
By water, earth or air? — 

How can we head him back? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 119 

Shall we starve him out if we burn 

Or bury his food-supply? 
Slip through his lines and learn — 

That is work for a spy! 

(Drums) — Get to your business, spy ! 

"Does he feint or strike in force? 

Will he charge or ambuscade? 
What is it checks his course? 

Is he beaten or only delayed ? 
How long will the lull endure? 

Is he retreating? Why? 
Crawl to his camp and make sure — 

That is the work for a spy! 

(Drums) — Fetch us our answer, spy ! 

"Ride with him girth to girth 

Wherever the Pale Horse wheels 
Wait on his councils, ear to earth, 

And say what the dust reveals. 
For the smoke of our torment rolls 

Where the burning thousands lie; 
What do we care for men's bodies or souls? 

Bring us deliverance, spy!" 



THE EXPLORER 

1898 

PHERE'S no sense in going further — it's the edge of 
cultivation," 
So they said, and I believed it — broke my land and sowed 
my crop — 
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border 
station 
Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out 
and stop. 



120 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes 

On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated — so: 

" Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind 

the Ranges — 

"Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for 

you. Go!" 



So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest 
neighbours — 
Stole away with pack and ponies — left 'em drinking in the 
town; 
And the faith that moveth mountains didn't seem to help my 
labours 
As I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading 
down. 



March by march I puzzled through 'em, turning flanks and 
dodging shoulders, 
Hurried on in hope of water, headed back for lack of grass; 
Till I camped above the tree-line — drifted snow and naked 
boulders — 
Felt free air astir to windward — knew I'd stumbled on the 
Pass. 



'Thought to name it for the finder: but that night the 
Norther found me — 
Froze and killed the plains-bred ponies; so I called the 
camp Despair 
(It's the Railway Gap to-day, though). Then my Whisper 
waked to hound me: — 
"Something lost behind the Ranges. Over yonder! Go 
you there!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 121 

Then I knew, the while I doubted — knew His Hand was 
certain o'er me. 
Still — it might be self-delusion — scores of better men had 
died — 
I could reach the township living, but . . . He knows what 
terror tore me . . . 
But I didn't . . . but I didn't. I went down the other side, 

Till the snow ran out in flowers, and the flowers turned to 
aloes, 
And the aloes sprung to thickets and a brimming stream 
ran by; 
But the thickets dwined to thorn-scrub, and the water 
drained to shallows, 
And I dropped again on desert — blasted earth, and blasting 
sky. . . . 

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by 'em; 

I remember seeing faces, hearing voices, through the smoke; 
I remember they were fancy — for I threw a stone to try 'em. 

"Something lost behind the Ranges" was the only word 
they spoke. 

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it 

When I heard myself hallooing to the funny folk I saw. 
'Very full of dreams that desert, but my two legs took me 
through it . . . 
And I used to watch 'em moving with the toes all black and 
raw. 

But at last the country altered — White Man's country past 

disputing — 

Rolling grass and open timber, with a hint of hills behind — 

There I found me food and water, and I lay a week recruiting. 

Got my strength and lost my nightmares. Then I entered 

on my find. 



122 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Thence I ran my first rough survey — chose my trees and 
blazed and ringed 'em — 
Week by week I pried and sampled — week by week my 
findings grew. 
Saul he went to look for donkeys, and by God he found a 
kingdom ! 
But by God, who sent His Whisper, I had struck the worth 
of two ! 

Up along the hostile mountains, where the hair-poised snow- 
slide shivers — 
Down and through the big fat marshes that the virgin 
ore-bed stains, 
Till I heard the mile-wide mutterings of unimagined rivers, 
And beyond the nameless timber saw illimitable plains! 

'Plotted sites of future cities, traced the easy grades between 
'em; 
Watched unharnessed rapids wasting fifty thousand head 
an hour; 
Counted leagues of water-frontage through the axe-ripe 
woods that screen 'em — 
Saw the plant to feed a people — up and waiting for the 
power ! 

Well I know who'll take the credit — all the clever chaps that 
followed — 
Came, a dozen men together — never knew my desert-fears; 
Tracked me by the camps I'd quitted, used the water-holes 
I'd hollowed. 
They'll go back and do the talking. They'll be called the 
Pioneers ! 

They will find mv sites of townships — not the cities that I set 
there. 
They will rediscover rivers — not my rivers heard at night. 
By my own old marks and bearings they will show me how te 
get there, 
By the lonely cairns I builded they will guide my feet aright. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 123 

Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single 

acre? 

Have I kept one single nugget — (barring samples)? No, 

not I! 

Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker. 

But you wouldn't understand it. You go up and occupy. 

Ores you'll find there; wood and cattle; water- transit sure 
and steady 
(That should keep the railway rates down), coal and iron 
at your doors. 
God took care to hide that country till He judged His people 
ready, 
Then He chose me for His Whisper, and I've found it, and 
it's yours! 

Yes, your "Never-never country" — yes, your "edge of cul- 
tivation" 
And "no sense in going further" — till I crossed the range 
to see. 
God forgive me! No, / didn't. It's God's present to our 
nation. 
Anybody might have found it but— His Whisper came 
to Me! 

THE PRO-CONSULS 

*THHE overfaithful sword returns the user 

His heart's desire at price of his heart's blood. 
The clamour of the arrogant accuser 
Wastes that one hour we needed to make good. 
This was foretold of old at our outgoing; 
This we accepted who have squandered, knowing, 
The strength and glory of our reputations, 
At the day's need, as it were dross, to guard 
The tender and new-dedicate foundations 
Against the sea we fear — not man s award. 



i2 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They that dig foundations deep, 
Fit for realms to rise upon, 

Little honour do they reap 
Of their generation, 

Any more than mountains gain 

Stature till we reach the plain. 



With no veil before their face 
Such as shroud or sceptre lend — 

Daily in the market-place, 

Of one height to foe and friend — 

They must cheapen self to find 

Ends uncheapened for mankind. 

Through the night when hirelings rest, 

Sleepless they arise, alone, 
The unsleeping arch to test 

And the o'er-trusted corner-stone, 
'Gainst the need, they know, that lies 
Hid behind the centuries. 



Not by lust of praise or show 
Not by Peace herself betrayed- 

Peace herself must they forego 
Till that peace be fitly made; 

And in single strength uphold 

Wearier hands and hearts acold. 



On the stage their act hath framed 
For thy sports, O Liberty! 

Doubted are they, and defamed 
By the tongues their act set free, 

While they quicken, tend and raise 

Power that must their power displace. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 125 

Lesser men feign greater goals, 

Failing whereof they may sit 
Scholarly to judge the souls 

That go down into the pit. 
And, despite its certain clay, 
Heave a new world towards the day. 



These at labour make no sign, 
More than planets, tides or years 

Which discover God's design, 

Not our hopes and not our fears; 

Nor in aught they gain or lose 

Seek a triumph or excuse. 



For, so the Ark be borne to Zion, who 
Heeds how they perished or were paid that bore it ? 
For, so the Shrine abide, what shame — what pride — 
If we, the priests, were bound or crowned before it ? 



THE SEA AND THE HILLS 

1902 

'\\/'HO hath desired the Sea? — the sight of salt water 
unbounded — 

The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the 
comber wind-hounded? 

The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enor- 
mous, and growing — 

Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane 
blowing — 



i26 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

His Sea in no showing the same — his Sea and the same 

'neath each showing: 

His Sea as she slackens or thrills? 
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen desire 

their Hills! 

Who hath desired the Sea? — the immense and contemptuous 
surges ? 

The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing 
bowsprit emerges? 

The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sap- 
phire thereunder — 

Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-vol- 
leying thunder — 

His Sea in no wonder the same — his Sea and the same through 
each wonder: 

His Sea as she rages or stills? 

So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen desire 
their Hills. 

Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her 

mercies ? 
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze 

that disperses? 
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and 

groans that declare it — 
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking 

timely to bare it; 
His Sea as his fathers have dared — his Sea as his children 

shall dare it: 

His Sea as she serves him or kills? 
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen dtsire 

their Hills. 

Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather 
Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the 
streets where men gather 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 127 

Inland, among dust, under trees — inland where the slayer 

may slay him — 
Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he 

must lay him — 
His Sea from the first that betrayed — at the last that shall 

never betray him: 

His Sea that his being fulfils? 
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen desire 

their Hills. 



ANCHOR SONG 

1893 

UEH! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short 
again ! 

Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl. 
Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full — 

Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all! 

Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my 
love — 
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your 
knee; 

For the wind has come to say: 
"You must take me while you may, 
If you'd go to Mother Carey 
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!), 
Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her 
chicks at sea!" 

Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah break it out o' that! 

Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear! 
Port — port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her 
foot, 

And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year! 






128 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Well, ah, fare you well, for we've got to take her out 
again — 
Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free. 
And it's time to clear and quit 
When the hawser grips the bitt, 
So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from 
the sea! 



Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her! 

Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall! 
Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy. 

Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul! 

Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind's took hold 
of us, 
Choking down our voices as we snatch the gaskets free. 
And it's blowing up for night, 
And she's dropping light on light, 
And she's snorting as she's snatching for a breath of 
open sea! 

Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone to-night. 

Sick she is and harbour-sick — oh, sick to clear the land! 
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us — 

Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand! 

Well, ah, fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door 

on us, 
Whirling like a windmill through the dirty scud to lee, 
Till the last, last flicker goes 
From the tumbling water-rows, 
And we're off to Mother Carey 
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!), 
Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her 
chicks at sea! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 129 

RHYME OF THE THREE SEALERS 

1 893 

A WAY by the lands of the Japanee 
Where the paper lanterns glow 
And the crews of all the shipping drink 

In the house of Blood Street Joe, 
At twilight, when the landward breeze 

Brings up the harbour noise, 
And ebb of Yokohama Bay 

Swigs chattering through the buoys, 
In Cisco's Dewdrop Dining Rooms 

They tell the tale anew 
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight, 
When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light 
And the Stralsund fought the two. 

Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with 

shot and steel, 
When you come by his isles in the Smoky Sea you must not 

take the seal, 
Where the grey sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung 

shelves, 
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they 

breed for themselves. 
For when the matkas 1 seek the shore to drop their pups 

aland, 
The great man-seal haul out of the sea, aroaring, band by 

band. 
And when the first September gales have slaked their rutting- 

wrath, 
The great man-seal haul back to the sea and no man knows 

their path. 

1 She-seals. 



i 3 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then dark they lie and stark they lie — rookery, dune, and 

floe, 
And the Northern Lights come down o' nights to dance with 

the houseless snow; 
And God Who clears the grounding berg and steers the 

grinding floe, 
He hears the cry of the little kit-fox and the wind along the 

snow. 
But since our women must walk gay and money buys their 

gear, 
The sealing-boats they filch that way at hazard year by year. 
English they be and Japanee that hang on the Brown Bear's 

flank, 
And some be Scot, but the worst of the lot, and the boldest 

thieves, be Yank! 

It was the sealer Northern Lights to the Smoky Seas she bore. 

With a stovepipe stuck from a starboard port and the Rus- 
sian flag at her fore. 

{Baltic ■, Stralsund, and Northern Light — oh! they were birds 
of a feather — 

Slipping away to the Smoky Seas, three seal-thieves to- 
gether!) 

And at last she came to a sandy cove and the Baltic lay 
therein, 

But her men were up with the herding seal to drive and club 
and skin. 

There were fifteen hundred skins abeach, cool pelt and proper 
fur, 

When the Northern Light drove into the bight and the sea- 
mist drove with her. 

The Baltic called her men and weighed — she could not 
choose but run — 

For a stovepipe seen through the closing mist, it shows like a 
four-inch gun 

(And loss it is that is sad as death to lose both trip and ship 

And lie for a rotting contraband on Vladivostok slip). 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 131 

She turned and dived in the sea-smother as a rabbit dives in 

the whins, 
And the Northern Light sent up her boats to steal the stolen 

skins. 
They had not brought a load to side or slid their hatches 

clear, 
When they were aware of a sloop-of-war, ghost-white and 

very near. 
Her flag she showed, and her guns she showed — three of 

them, black, abeam, 
And a funnel white with the crusted salt, but never a show of 

steam. 



There was no time to man the brakes, they knocked the 

shackle free, 
And the Northern Light stood out again, goose-winged to 

open sea. 
(For life it is that is worse than death, by force of Russian 

law 
To work in the mines of mercury that loose the teeth in your 

jaw.) 
They had not run a mile from shore — they heard no shots 

behind — 
When the skipper smote his hand on his thigh and threw het- 
up in the wind: 
"Bluffed — raised out on a blufY," said he, "for if my name's 

Tom Hall, 
"You must set a thief to catch a thief — and a thief has 

caught us all! 
"By every butt in Oregon and every spar in Maine, 
"The hand that spilled the wind from her sail was the hand 

of Reuben Paine! 
"He has rigged and trigged her with paint and spar, and, 

faith, he has faked her well — 
"But I'd know the Stralsund 's deckhouse vet from here to 

the booms o' Hell. 



i 3 2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Oh, once we ha' met at Baltimore, and twice on Boston pier, 
"But the sickest day for you, Reuben Paine, was the day 

that you came here — 
"The day that you came here, my lad, to scare us from our 

seal 
"With your funnel made o' your painted cloth, and your 

guns o' rotten deal ! 
"Ring and blow for the Baltic now, and head her back to the 

bay, 
"And we'll come into the game again — with a double deck 

to play!" 



They rang and blew the sealers' call — the poaching-cry of 

the sea — 
And they raised the Baltic out of the mist, and an angry ship 

was she. 
And blind they groped through the whirling white and blind 

to the bay again, 
Till they heard the creak of the Strahund's boom and the 

clank of her mooring chain. 
They laid them down by bitt and boat, their pistols in their 

belts, 
And: "Will you fight for it, Reuben Paine, or will you share 

the pelts?" 



A dog-toothed laugh laughed Reuben Paine, and bared his 

flenching-knife. 
"Yea, skin for skin, and all that he hath a man will give for 

his life; 
But I've six thousand skins below, and Yeddo Port to see, 
And there's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty- 
Three : 
So go in peace to the naked seas with empty holds to fill, 
And I'll be good to your seal this catch, as many as I shall 
kill!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 133 

Answered the snap of a closing lock — the jar of a gun-butt 

slid, 
But the tender fog shut fold on fold to hide the wrong they 

did. 
The weeping fog rolled fold on fold the wrath of man to 

cloak, 
As the flame-spurts pale ran down the rail and the sealing- 

rifles spoke. 
The bullets bit on bend and butt, the splinter slivered free 
(Little they trust to sparrow-dust that stop the seal in his 

sea!), 
The thick smoke hung and would not shift, leaden it lay and 

blue, 
But three were down on the Baltic's deck and two of the 

Stralsund's crew. 
An arm's length out and overside the banked fog held them 

bound, 
But, as they heard or groan or word, they fired at the sound. 
For one cried out on the Name of God, and one to have him 

cease, 
And the questing volley found them both and bade them hold 

their peace. 
And one called out on a heathen joss and one on the Virgin's 

Name, 
And the schooling bullet leaped across and led them whence 

they came. 
And in the waiting silences the rudder whined beneath, 
And each man drew his watchful breath slow-taken 'tween the 

teeth — 
Trigger and ear and eye acock, knit brow and hard-drawn 

lips — 
Bracing his feet by chock and cleat for the rolling of the 

ships. 
Till they heard the cough of a wounded man that fought in 

the fog for breath, 
Till they heard the torment of Reuben Paine that wailed 

upon his death: 



i.H RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"The tides they'll go through Fundy Race., but I'll go never 

more 
"And see the hogs from ebb-tide mark turn scampering back 

to shore. 
"No more I'll see the trawlers drift below the Bass Rock 

ground, 
"Or watch the tall Fall steamer lights tear blazing up the 

Sound. 
"Sorrow is me, in a lonely sea and a sinful fight I fall, 
" But if there's law o' God or man you'll swine: for it yet, Tom 

Hall!" 



Tom Hall stood up by the quarter-rail. "Your words in 

your teeth," said he. 
"There's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty- 
Three. 
" So go in grace with Him to face, and an ill-spent life behind, 
"And I'll be good to your widows, Rube, as many as I shall 

find." 
A Stralsund man shot blind and large, and a warlock Finn 

was he, 
And he hit Tom Hall with a bursting ball a hand's-breadth 

over the knee. 
Tom Hall caught hold by the topping-lift, and sat him down 

with an oath, 
"You'll wait a little, Rube," he said, "the Devil has called for 

both. 
"The Devil is driving both this tide, and the killing-grounds 

are close, 
"And we'll go up to the Wrath of God as the holluschickie 1 

goes. 
"O men, put back your guns again and lay your rifles by, 
"We've fought our fight, and the best are down. Let up and 

let us die ! 

^he young seal. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 135 

"Quit firing, by the bow there — quit! Call off the Baltic's 
crew ! 

"You're sure of Hell as me or Rube — but wait till we get 
through." 

There went no word between the ships, but thick and quick 
and loud 

The life-blood drummed on the dripping decks, with the fog- 
dew from the shroud, 

The sea-pull drew them side by side, gunnel to gunnel laid, 

And they felt the sheer-strakes pound and clear, but never a 
word was said. 

Then Reuben Paine cried out again before his spirit passed: 
"Have I followed the sea for thirty years to die in the dark 

at last? 
"Curse on her work that has nipped me here with a shifty 

trick unkind — 
"I have gotten my death where I got my bread, but I dare 

not face it blind. 
"Curse on the fog! Is there never a wind of all the winds I 

knew 
"To clear the smother from off my chest, and let me look at 

the blue?" 
The good fog heard— like a splitten sail, to left and right she 

tore, 
And they saw the sun-dogs in the haze and the seal upon the 

shore. 
Silver and grey ran spit and bay to meet the steel-backed tide, 
And pinched and white in the clearing light the crews stared 

overside. 
O rainbow-gay the red pools lay that swilled and spilled and 

spread, 
And gold, raw gold, the spent shell rolled between the care- 
less dead — 
The dead that rocked so drunkenwise to weather and to lee, 
And they saw the work their hands had done as God had bade 

them see! 



136 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And a little breeze blew over the rail that made the headsails 
lift, 

But no man stood by wheel or sheet, and they let the schoon- 
ers drift. 

And the rattle rose in Reuben's throat and he cast his soul 
with a cry, 

And "Gone already?" Tom Hall he said. "Then it's time 
for me to die." 

His eyes were heavy with great sleep and yearning for the 
land, 

And he spoke as a man that talks in dreams, his wound be- 
neath his hand. 

"Oh, there comes no good o' the westering wind that backs 

against the sun; 
"Wash down the decks — they're all too red — and share the 

skins and run, 
"Baltic, Stralsund y and Northern Light — clean share and share 

for all, 
"You'll find the fleets off Tolstoi Mees, but vou will not find 

Tom Hall. 
"Evil he did in shoal-water and blacker sin on the deep, 
"But now he's sick of watch and trick and now he'll turn and 

sleep. 
"He'll have no more of the crawling sea that made him suffer 

so, 
"But he'll lie down on the killing-grounds where the hollu- 

schickie go. 
"And west you'll sail and south again, beyond the sea-fog's 

rim, 
"And tell the Yoshiwara girls to burn a stick for him. 
"And you'll not weight him by the heels and dump him over- 
side, 
" But carry him up to the sand-hollows to die as Bering died, 
"And make a place for Reuben Paine that knows the fight 

was fair, 
"And leave the two that did the wrong to talk it over there!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 137 

Half -steam ahead by guess and lead, for the sun is mostly veiled — 
Through fog to fog, by luck and log, sail you as Bering sailed; 
And if the light shall lift aright to give your landfall plain, 
North and by west, from Zapne Crest you raise the Crosses 

Twain. 
Fair marks are they to the inner bay, the reckless poacher knows, 
What time the scarred see-catchie 1 lead their sleek seraglios. 
Ever they hear the floe-pack clear, and the blast of the old bull- 
whale, 
And the deep seal-roar that beats off-shore above the loudest gale. 
Ever they wait the winter s hate as the thundering boorga 2 calls, 
Where northward look they to St. George, and westward to St. 

Paul's. 
Ever they greet the hunted fleet — lone keels off headlands drear — 
When the sealing-schooners flit that way at hazard year by year. 
Ever in Yokohama port men tell the tale anew 
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight, 
When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light 
And the Stralsund fought the two. 



M'ANDREW'S HYMN 

1893 

[ ORD, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a 

dream, 
An', taught by time, I tak' it so — exceptin' always Steam. 
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O 

God- 
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod. 
John Calvin might ha' forged the same — enorrmous, certain, 

slow — 
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame — my "Institutio." 
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please; 
I'll stand the middle watch up here — alone wi' God an' these 
^he male seal. 2 Hurricane. 



138 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain 
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home 

again. 
Slam-bang too much — they knock a wee— the crosshead- 

gibs are loose, 
But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair ex- 
cuse. . . . 
Fine, clear an' dark — a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out 

o' sight, 
An* Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night! 
His wife's at Plymouth. . . . Seventy — One — Two — 

Three since he began — 
Three turns for Mistress Ferguson . . . and who's to 

blame the man? 
There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow, 
Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago. 
(The year the Sarah Sands was burned. Oh roads we used 

to tread, 
Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws — fra' Govan to Parkhead!) 
Not but they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth 

say: 
''Good morrn, McAndrew! Back again? An' how's your 

bilge to-day?" 
Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair 
To drink Madeira wi' three Earls — the auld Fleet Engineer 
That started as a boiler-whelp — when steam and he were 

low. 
/ mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow! 
Ten pound was all the pressure then — Eh! Eh! — a man wad 

drive; 
An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder sixty-five! 
We're creepin' on wi' each new rig — less weight an' larger 

power: 
There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty miles an hour! 
Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began 
Leaves me na doot for the machine: but what about the 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 139 

The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' 

sea: 
Four time the span from earth to moon. . . . How far, 

O Lord, from Thee 
That wast beside him night an' day? Ye mind my first 

typhoon ? 
It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon. 
Three feet were on the stokehold-floor — just slappin' to an' 

fro — 
An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show. 
Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns — deep in my soul 

an' black, 
An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickud- 

ness comes back. 
The sins o' four an' forty years, all up an' down the seas. 
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. . . . Forgie 's our 

trespasses! 
Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze, 
The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel-stays; 
Years when I raked the Ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' 

wrong — 
Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong- 
Kong! 
Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode — 
Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an* Grant 

Road! 
An' waur than all — my crownin' sin — rank blasphemy an' 

wild. 
I was not four and twenty then — Ye wadna judge a child? 
I'd seen the Tropics first that run — new fruit, new smells, 

new air — 
How could I tell — blind-fou wi' sun — the Deil was lurkin' 

there? 
By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy 

eyes; 
By night those soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet 

skies, 



i 4 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

In port (we used no cargo-steam) I'd daunder down the 

streets — 
An ij j It grinnin' in a dream — for shells an' parrakeets, 
An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an 

dried — 
Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Chief put overside. 
Till, off Sambawa Head, Ye mind, I heard a land-breeze ca', 
Milk-warm wi' breath o' spice an' bloom: "Mc Andrew, come 

awa ! 
Firm, clear an' low — no haste, no hate — the ghostly whis- 
per went, 
Just statin' eevidential facts beyon' all argument: 
"Your mither's God's a graspin' deil, the shadow o' yourself 
"Got out o' books by meenisters clean daft on Heaven an' 

Hell. 
"They mak' him in the Broomielaw, o' Glasgie cold an' dirt, 
"A jealous, pridefu' fetich, lad, that's only strong to hurt, 
"Ye'll not go back to Him again an' kiss His red-hot rod, 
"But come wi' Us" (Now, who were They ?) "an' know the 

Leevin' God, 
"That does not kipper souls for sport or break a life in jest, 
"But swells the ripenin' cocoanuts an' ripes the woman's 

breast." 
An* there it stopped: cut off: no more; that quiet, certain 

voice — 
For me, six months o' twenty-four, to leave or take at choice. 
'Twas on me like a thunderclap — it racked me through an' 

through — 
Temptation past the show o' speech, unnameable an' new — 
The Sin against the Holy Ghost? . . . An' under all, 

our screw. 

That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell. 
Thou knowest all my heart an' mind, Thou knowest, Lord, I 

fell. 
Third on the Mary Gloster then, and first that night in Hell! 
Yet was Thy Hand beneath my head, about my feet Thy Care — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 141 

Fra' Deli clear to Torres Strait, the trial o' despair, 

But when we touched the Barrier Reef Thy answer to my 

prayer I . . . 
We dared na run that sea by night but lay an* held our 

fire, 
An' I was drowsin' on the hatch — sick — sick wi' doubt an* 

tire: 
" Better the sight of eyes that see than wanderin o' desirt ! " 
Ye mind that word? Clear as our gongs — again, an' once 

again, 
When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'- 

chain; 
An', by Thy Grace, I had the Light to see my duty plain. 
Light on the engine-room — no more — bright as our carbons 

burn. 
I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return! 

Obsairve. Per annum we'll have here two thousand souls 

aboard — 
Think not I dare to justify myself before The Lord, 
But — average fifteen hunder souls safe-borne fra' port to 

port — 
I am o service to my kind. Ye wadna blame the thought? 
Maybe they steam from Grace to Wrath — to sin by folly 

led— 
It isna mine to judge their path — their lives are on my head. 
Mine at the last — when all is done it all comes back to me, 
The fault that leaves six thousand ton a log upon the sea. 
We'll tak' one stretch — three weeks an' odd by ony road ye 

steer — 
Fra' Cape Town east to Wellington — ye need an engineer. 
Fail there — ye've time to weld your shaft — ay, eat it, ere 

ye're spoke; 
Or make Kerguelen under sail — three jiggers burned wi' 

smoke! 
An' home again — the Rio run: it's no child's play to go 
Steamin' to bell for fourteen days o' snow an' floe an' blow. 



1 42 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The bergs like kelpies overside that girn an' turn an' shift 
Whaur, grindin' like the Mills o' God, goes by the big South 

drift. 
(Hail, Snow and Ice that praise the Lord. I've met them 

at their work, 
An* wished we had anither route or they anither kirk.) 
Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy 

Power brings 
All skill to naught, Ye'll understand a man must think o' 

things. 
Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage 

clear — 
The passengers, wi' gloves an' canes — an' this is what I'll 

hear: 
" Well, thank ye for a pleasant voyage. The tender's comin' 

now." 
While I go testin' follower-bolts an' watch the skipper bow. 
They've words for every one but me — shake hands wi' half 

the crew, 
Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew. 
An* yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's 

here — 
No pension, an* the most we'll earn 's four hunder pound a 

year. 
Better myself abroad? Maybe. Fd sooner starve than sail 
Wi' such as call a snifter-rod ross. . . . French for night- 
ingale. 
Commeesion on my stores? Some do; but I cannot afford 
To lie like stewards wi' patty-pans. I'm older than the 

Board. 
A bonus on the coal I save? Ou ay, the Scots are close, 
But when I grudge the strength Ye gave I'll grudge their 

food to those. 
(There's bricks that I might recommend — an' clink the fire- 
bars cruel. 
No! Welsh — Wangarti at the worst — an' damn all patent 

fuel!) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 143 

Inventions? Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay. 
My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business 

lay, 
I blame no chaps wi' clearer heads for aught they make or sell. 
/ found that I could not invent an' look to these as well. 
So, wrestled wi' Apollyon — Nah! — fretted like a bairn — 
But burned the workin'-plans last run wi' all I hoped to earn. 
Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant to me — 
E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee. . . . 
Below there ! Oiler ! What's your wark ? Ye find it runnin 

hard ? 
Ye needn't swill the cup wi oil — this isn't the Cunard I 
Ye thought ? Ye are not paid to think. Go, sweat that off 

again ! 
Tck! Tck! It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The Name in 



vain 



Men, ay an' women, call me stern. Wi' these to oversee 

Ye'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee. 

The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt me to an' 

fro, 
Till for the sake of — well, a kiss — I tak' 'em down below. 
That minds me of our Viscount loon — Sir Kenneth's kin — 

the chap 
Wi' Russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap. 
I showed him round last week, o'er all — an' at the last savs 

he: 
"Mister McAndrew, don't you think steam spoils romance 

at sea?" 
Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed 

the throws, 
Manholin', on my back — the cranks three inches off my nose. 
Romance! Those first-class passengers they like it very well, 
Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell? 
I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns — the loves an' doves 

they dream — 
Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o* 

Steam ! 



i 4 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime 
Whaurto — uplifted like the Just — the tail-rods mark the 

time. 
The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs 

an* heaves, 
An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the 

sheaves: 
Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head 

bides, 
Till — hear that note? — the rod's return whings glimmerin' 

through the guides. 
They're all awa! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus 

goes 
Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamoes. 
Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed, 
To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed. 
Fra skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' 

stayed. 
An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made; 
While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrust-block 

says: 
"Not unto us the praise, or man — not unto us the praise!" 
Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson — theirs an' 

mine: 
"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!" 
Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they 

arose, 
An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows. 
Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain, 
Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain! 
But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand 
My seven thousand horse-power here. Eh, Lord! They're 

grand — they're grand! 
Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties 

stood, 
Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all 

things good? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 145 

Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could vex, 
Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man — the Arrtifex! 
That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an* 

slip, 
An* by that light — now, mark my word — we'll build the 

Perfect Ship. 
Ill never last to judge her lines or take her curve — not I. 
But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. Be thanks to Thee, Most 

An' I ha' done what I ha' done — judge Thou if ill or well — 
Always Thy Grace preventin' me. . . . 

Losh! Yon's the "Stand-by" bell. 
Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch is set. 
Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet. 
Now I'll tak' on. . . . 

'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thought 
What your good /eddy costs in coal ? . . . Til burn 'em 
down to port. 



iMULHOLLAND'S CONTRACT 

1894 

PHE fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea, 
An' the pens broke up on the lower deck an' let the crea- 
tures free — 
An' the lights went out on the lower deck, an' no one near but 
me. 

I had been singin' to them to keep 'em quiet there, 

For the lower deck is the dangerousest, requirin' constant 

care, 
An' give to me as the strongest man, though used to drink 

and swear. 



146 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I seed my chance was certain of bein' horned or trod, 

For the lower deck was packed with steers thicker'n peas 

in a pod, 
An' more pens broke at every roll — so I made a Contract 

with God. 

An' by the terms of the Contract, as I have read the same. 
If He got me to port alive I would exalt His Name, 
An' praise His Holy Majesty till further orders came. 

He saved me from the cattle an' He saved me from the sea, 
For they found me 'tween two drownded ones where the roll 

had landed me — 
An* a four-inch crack on top of my head, as crazy as could be. 

But that were done by a stanchion, an' not by a bullock at all, 
An' I lay still for seven weeks convalescing of the fall, 
An'readin'the shiny Scripture texts in the Seaman's Hospital. 

An' I spoke to God of our Contract, an' He says to my prayer: 
"I never puts on My ministers no more than they can bear. 
"So back you go to the cattle-boats an' preach My Gospel 
there. 

"For human life is chancy at any kind of trade, 
" But most of all, as well you know, when the steers are mad- 
afraid; 
"So you go back to the cattle-boats an' preach 'em as I've 
said. 

"They must quit drinkin' an' swearin', they mustn't knife on 

a blow, 
"They must quit gamblin' their wages, and you must preach 

it so; 
"For now those boats are more like Hell than anything else 

I know." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 147 

[ didn't want to do it, for I knew what I should get, 

An' I wanted to preach Religion, handsome an' out of the 

wet, 
But the Word of the Lord were laid on me, an* I done what I 

was set. 

I have been smit an' bruised, as warned would be the case, 
An' turned my cheek to the smiter exactly as Scripture says; 
But, following that, I knocked him down an' led him up to 
Grace. 

An' we have preaching on Sundays whenever the sea is calm, 

An' I use no knife or pistol an' I never take no harm, 

For the Lord abideth back of me to guide my fighting arm. 

An' I sign for four-pound-ten a month and save the money 

clear, 
An' I am in charge of the lower deck, an' I never lose a steer; 
An' I believe in Almighty God an' I preach His Gospel here. 

The skippers say I'm crazy, but I can prove 'em wrong, 
For I am in charge of the lower deck with all that doth be- 
long— 

Which they would not give to a lunatic y and the competition 



THE "MARY GLOSTER" 

1 894 

"I'VE paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your 
crackedest whim — 

Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him! 

Good for a fortnight, am I ? The doctor told you? He lied. 

I shall go under by morning, and Put that nurse out- 
side. 



148 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

'Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to 

learn, 
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your 

turn. 
Not counting the Line and the Foundry, the Yards and the 

village, too, 
I've made myself and a million; but I'm damned if I made 

you. 
Master at two-and-twenty, and married at twenty-three — 
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll, and forty freighters at 

sea! 
Fifty years between 'em, and every year of it fight, 
And now I'm Sir Anthony Gloster, dying, a baronite: 
For I lunched with his Royal 'Ighness — what was it the 

papers had? 
"Not least of our merchant-princes." Dickie, that's me, 

your dad ! 
I didn't begin with askings. I took my job and I stuck; 
I took the chances they wouldn't, an' now they're calling it 

luck. 
Lord, what boats I've handled — rotten and leaky and old! 
Ran 'em, or — opened the bilge-cock, precisely as I was told. 
Grub that 'ud bind you crazy, and crews that 'ud turn you 

grey, 
And a big fat lump of insurance to cover the risk on the way. 
The others they dursn't do it; they said they valued their 

life 
(They've served me since as skippers). 7 went, and I took 

my wife. 
Over the world I drove 'em, married at twenty-three, 
And your mother saving the money and making a man of me. 
/ was content to be master, but she said there was better 

behind; 
She took the chances I wouldn't, and I followed your mother 

blind. 
She egged me to borrow the money, an' she helped me to clear 

the loan, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 149 

When we bought half-shares in a cheap un and hoisted a flag 

of our own. 
Patching and coaling on credit, and living the Lord knew how, 
We started the Red Ox freighters — we've eight-and-thirty 

now. 
And those were the days of clippers, and the freights were 

clipper-freights, 
And we knew we were making our fortune, but she died in 

Macassar Straits — 
By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank — 
And we dropped her in fourteen fathom; I pricked it off 

where she sank. 
Owners we were, full owners, and the boat was christened for 

her, 
And she died in the Mary Gloster. My heart, how young we 

were ! 
So I went on a spree round Java and well-nigh ran her ashore, 
But your mother came and warned me and I wouldn't liquor 

no more: 
Strict I stuck to my business, afraid to stop or I'd think, 
Saving the money (she warned me), and letting the other men 

drink. 
And I met M'Cullough in London (I'd saved five 'undred 

then), 
And 'tween us we started the Foundry — three forges and 

twenty men: 
Cheap repairs for the cheap 'uns. It paid, and the business 

grew, 
For I bought me a steam-lathe patent, and that was a gold 

mine too. 
" Cheaper to build 'em than buy 'em," / said, but M'Cullough 

he shied, 
And we wasted a year in talking before we moved to the 

Clyde. 
And the Lines were all beginning, and we all of us started fair, 
Building our engines like houses and staying the boilers 

square. 



i 5 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

But M'Cullough 'e wanted cabins with marble and maple and 

all, 
And Brussels an' Utrecht velvet, and baths and a Social Hall, 
And pipes for closets all over, and cutting the frames too light, 
But M'Cullough he died in the Sixties, and Well, I'm 

dying to-night. . . . 
I knew — I knew what was coming, when we bid on the 

Byfleefs keel — 
They piddled and piffled with iron. I'd given my orders for 

steel! 
Steel and the first expansions. It paid, I tell you, it paid, 
When we came with our nine-knot freighters and collared the 

long-run trade! 
And they asked me how I did it, and I gave 'em the Scripture 

text, 
"You keep your light so shining a little in front o' the next!" 
They copied all they could follow, but they couldn't copy my 

mind, 
And I left 'em sweating and stealing a year and a half behind. 
Then came the armour-contracts, but that was M'Cullough's 

side; 
He was always best in the Foundry, but better, perhaps, he 

died. 
I went through his private papers; the notes was plainer 

than print; 
And I'm no fool to finish if a man'll give me a hint. 
(I remember his widow was angry.) So I saw what his draw- 
ings meant, 
And I started the six-inch rollers, and it paid me sixty per 

cent. 
Sixty per cent with failures, and more than twice we could do, 
And a quarter-million to credit, and I saved it all for you! 
I thought — it doesn't matter — you seemed to favour your ma, 
But you're nearer forty than thirty, and I know the kind 

you are. 
Harrer an' Trinity College! I ought to ha' sent you to sea — 
But I stood you an education, an' what have you done for me? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 151 

The things I knew was proper you wouldn't thank me to give, 
And the things I knew was rotten you said was the way to 

live. 
For you muddled with books and pictures, an' china an' 

etchin's an' fans, 
And your rooms at college was beastly — more like a whore's 

than a man's; 
Till you married that thin-flanked woman, as white and as 

stale as a bone, 
An' she gave you your social nonsense; but where's that kid 

o' your own ? 
I've seen your carriages blocking the half o' the Cromwell 

Road, 
But never the doctor's brougham to help the missus unload. 
(So there isn't even a grandchild, an' the Gloster family's 

done.) 
Not like your mother, she isn't. She carried her freight each 

run. 
But they died, the pore little beggars! At sea she had 'em 

— they died. 
Only you, an' you stood it. You haven't stood much beside. 
Weak, a liar, and idle, and mean as a collier's whelp 
Nosing for scraps in the galley. No help — my son was no 

help! 
So he gets three 'undred thousand, in trust and the interest 

paid. 
I wouldn't give it you, Dickie — you see, I made it in trade. 
You're saved from soiling your fingers, and if you have no 

child, 
It all comes back to the business. 'Gad, won't your wife be 

wild! 
'Calls and calls in her carriage, her 'andkerchief up to *er eye: 
"Daddy! dear daddy's dyin'!" and doing her best to cry. 
Grateful? Oh, yes, I'm grateful, but keep her away from 

here. 
Your mother 'ud never ha' stood 'er, and, anyhow, women are 

queer. . . . 



152 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There's women will say I've married a second time. Not 

quite! 
But give pore Aggie a hundred, and tell her your lawyers'll 

fight. 
She was the best o' the boiling — you'll meet her before it ends. 
I'm in for a row with the mother — I'll leave you settle my 

friends. 
For a man he must go with a woman, which women don't 

understand — 
Or the sort that say they can see it they aren't the marrying 

brand. 
But I wanted to speak o' your mother that's Lady Gloster 

still; 
I'm going to up and see her, without its hurting the will. 
Here! Take your hand off the bell-pull. Five thousand's 

waiting for you, 
If you'll only listen a minute, and do as I bid you do. 
They'll try to prove me crazy, and, if you bungle, they can; 
And I've only you to trust to! (O God, why ain't it a man?) 
There's some waste money on marbles, the same as M'Cul- 

lough tried — 
Marbles and mausoleums — but I call that sinful pride. 
There's some ship bodies for burial — we've carried 'em, 

soldered and packed; 
Down in their wills they wrote it, and nobody called them 

cracked. 
But me — I've too much money, and people might . . . 

All my fault: 
It come o' hoping for grandsons and buying that Wokin' 

vault. . . . 
I'm sick o' the 'ole dam' business. I'm going back where I 

came. 
Dick, you're the son o' my body, and you'll take charge o* 

the same! 
I want to lie by your mother, ten thousand mile away, 
And they'll want to send me to Woking; and that's where 

you'll earn your pay. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 i 



dj 



I've thought it out on the quiet, the same as it ought to be 

done — 
Quiet, and decent, and proper — an* here's your orders, my 

son. 
You know the Line? You don't, though. You write to the 

Board, and tell 
Your father's death has upset you an' you're goin' to cruise 

for a spell, 
An' you'd like the Mary Gloster — I've held her ready for 

this — 
They'll put her in working order and you'll take her out as 

she is. 
Yes, it was money idle when I patched her and laid her aside 
(Thank God, I can pay for my fancies!) — the boat where 

your mother died, 
By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank, 
We dropped her — I think I told you — and I pricked it off 

where she sank. 
['Tiny she looked on the grating — that oily, treacly sea — ] 
'Hundred and Eighteen East, remember, and South just 

Three. 
Easy bearings to carry — Three South — Three to the dot; 
But I gave McAndrew a copy in case of dying — or not. 
And so you'll write to McAndrew, he's Chief of the Maori 

Line; 
They'll give him leave, if you ask 'em and say it's business o' 

mine. 
I built three boats for the Maoris, an' very well pleased they 

were, 
An' I've known Mac since the Fifties, and Mac knew me — ■ 

and her. 
After the first stroke warned me I sent him the money to keep 
Against the time you'd claim it, committin' your dad to the 

deep; 
For you are the son o' my body, and Mac was my oldest 

friend, 
I've never asked 'im to dinner, but he'll see it out to the end- 



154 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Stiff-necked Glasgow beggar! I've heard he's prayed for 

my soul, 
But he couldn't lie if you paid him, and he'd starve before he 

stole. 
He'll take the Mary in ballast — you'll find her a lively 

ship; 
And you'll take Sir Anthony Gloster, that goes on 'is wedding- 
trip, 
Lashed in our old deck-cabin with all three port-holes wide, 
The kick o' the screw beneath him and the round blue seas 

outside! 
Sir Anthony Gloster's carriage — our 'ouse-flag flyin' free — 
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll and forty freighters at 

sea! 
He made himself and a million, but this world is a fleetin' 

show, 
And he'll go to the wife of 'is bosom the same as he ought to 

go— 
By the heel of the Paternosters — there isn't a chance to 

mistake — 
And Mac'll pay you the money as soon as the bubbles break! 
Five thousand for six weeks' cruising, the staunchest freighter 

afloat, 
And Mac he'll give you your bonus the minute I'm out o' the 

boat! 
He'll take you round to Macassar, and you'll come back 

alone; 
He knows what I want o' the Mary. . . . I'll do what I 

please with my own. 
Your mother 'ud call it wasteful, but I've seven-and-thirty 

more; 
I'll come in my private carriage and bid it wait at the 

door. . . . 
For my son 'e was never a credit: 'e muddled with books and 

art, 
And 'e lived on Sir Anthony's money and 'e broke Sir An- 
thony's heart. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 155 

There isn't even a grandchild, and the Gloster family's 

done — 
The only one you left me, O mother, the only one ! 
Harrer and Trinity College — me slavin' early an' late — 
An' he thinks I'm dying crazy, and you're in Macassar 

Strait! 
Flesh o' my flesh, my dearie, for ever an' ever amen, 
That first stroke come for a warning. I ought to ha' gone to 

you then. 
But — cheap repairs for a cheap 'un — the doctors said I'd 

do. 
Mary, why didn't you warn me? I've alius heeded to you, 
Excep' — I know — about women; but you are a spirit now; 
An', wife, they was only women, and I was a man. That's 

how. 
An' a man 'e must go with a woman, as you could not under- 
stand; 
But I never talked 'em secrets. I paid 'em out o' hand. 
Thank Gawd, I can pay for my fancies! Now what's five 

thousand to me, 
For a berth off the Paternosters in the haven where I would 

be? 
i" believe in the Resurrection, if I read my Bible plain, 
But I wouldn't trust 'em at Wokin'; we're safer at sea again. 
For the heart it shall go with the treasure — go down to the 

sea in ships. 
I'm sick of the hired women. I'll kiss my girl on her lips! 
I'll be content with my fountain. I'll drink from my own 

well, 
And the wife of my youth shall charm me — an' the rest can 

go to Hell! 
(Dickie, he will, that's certain.) I'll lie in our standin'-bed, 
An' Mac'll take her in ballast — an' she trims best by the 

head. . 
Down by the head an' sinkin', her fires are drawn and cold, 
And the water's splashin' hollow on the skin of the empty 

hold— 



156 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Churning an' choking and chuckling, quiet and scummy and 

dark — 
Full to her lower hatches and risin' steady. Hark! 
That was the after-bulkhead. . . . She's flooded from 

stem to stern. . . . 
'Never seen death yet, Dickie? . . . Well, now is your 

time to learn! 



THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR" 

1890 

QEVEN men from all the world back to Docks again , 

Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain, 
Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away — 
We that took the " Bolivar" out across the Bay I 

We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails; 

We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo shifted; 
We put out from Sunderland — met the winter gales — 

Seven days and seven nights to the Start we drifted. 

Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white as snow, 
All the coals adrift adeck, half the rails below, 
Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray — 
Out we took the Bolivar ', out across the Bay! 

One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us by; 

Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle short; 
Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead fly; 

Left The Wolf behind us with a two-foot list to port. 

Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul; 
Clanging like a smithy-shop after every roll; 
Just a funnel and a mast lurching through the spray — 
So we threshed the Bolivar out across the Bay! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 157 

Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when she'd break; 

Wondered every time she raced if she'd stand the shock; 
Heard the seas like drunken men pounding at her strake; 

Hoped the Lord 'ud keep his thumb on the plummer- 
block! 



Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked with coal; 
Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart and soul; 
'Last we prayed she'd buck herself into Judgment Day — 
Hi! we cursed the Bolivar knocking round the Bay! 

O her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still — 

Up and down and back we went, never time for breath; 

Then the money paid at Lloyd's caught her by the keel, 
And the stars ran round and round dancin' at our death ! 

Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between; 
'Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it green; 
Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at play — 
That was on the Bolivar, south across the Bay! 

Once we saw between the squalls, lyin' head to swell — 
Mad with work and weariness, wishin' they was we — 

Some damned Liner's lights go by like a grand hotel; 
'Cheered her from the Bolivar swampin' in the sea. 

Then a greyback cleared us out, then the skipper laughed; 

" Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell — rig the winches aft ! 
"Yoke the kicking rudder-head — get her under way!" 

So we steered her, pully-haul, out across the Bay! 

Just a pack o' rotten plates puttied up with tar, 
In we came, an' time enough, 'cross Bilbao Bar. 
Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, we 
Euchred God Almighty's storm, bluffed the Eternal Sea! 



i 5 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Seven men from all the world back to town again , 
Rollin down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain: 
Seven men from out of Hell. Aint the owners gay, 
'Cause we took the "Bolivar" safe across the Bay ? 



THE BALLAD OF THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 



TT WAS our war-ship Clampherdown 

Would sweep the Channel clean, 
Wherefore she kept her hatches close 
When the merry Channel chops arose, 
To save the bleached Marine. 

She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton, 

And a great stern-gun beside. 
They dipped their noses deep in the sea, 
They racked their stays and stanchions free 

In the wash of the wind-whipped tide. 

It was our war-ship Clampherdown 

Fell in with a cruiser light 
That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun 
And a pair of heels wherewith to run 

From the grip of a close-fought fight. 

She opened fire at seven miles — 

As ye shoot at a bobbing cork — 
And once she fired and twice she fired, 
Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired 
That lolls upon the stalk. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 159 

"Captain, the bow-gun melts apace, 

"The deck-beams break below, 
' 'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain, 
"And botch the shattered plates again." 
And he answered, "Make it so." 

She opened fire within the mile — 

As you shoot at the flying duck — 
And the great stern-gun shot fair and true, 
With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue, 

And the great stern-turret stuck. 

"Captain, the turret fills with steam, 

"The feed-pipes burst below — 
" You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram, 
"You can hear the twisted runners jam." 

And he answered, "Turn and go!" 

It was our war-ship Clampherdown, 

And grimly did she roll; 
Swung round to take the cruiser's fire 
As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire 

When they war by the frozen Pole. 



"Captain, the shells are falling fast, 

"And faster still fall we; 
"And it is not meet for English stock 
"To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock 

"The death they cannot see." 

"Lie down, lie down, my bold A. B., 

"We drift upon her beam; 
"We dare not ram, for she can run: 
"And dare ye fire another gun, 

"And die in the peeling steam?" 



160 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It was our war-ship Clampherdovon 

That carried an armour-belt; 
But fifty feet at stern and bow 
Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, 

To the hail of the Nordenfeldt. 

" Captain, they lack us through and through; 

"The chilled steel bolts are swift! 
"We have emptied the bunkers in open sea, 
"Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be.'* 

And he answered, "Let her drift." 

It was our war-ship Clampherdozuii, 

Swung round upon the tide, 
Her two dumb guns glared south and north, 
And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth, 

And she ground the cruiser's side. 

"Captain, they cry, the fight is dune, 
"They bid you send your sword." 

And he answered, "Grapple her stern and bow. 

"They have asked for the steel. They shall have 
it now; 
"Out cutlasses and board!" 

It was our war-ship Clampherdown 

Spewed up four hundred men; 
And the scalded stokers yelped delight, 
As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight, 

Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. 

They cleared the cruiser end to end 

From conning-tower to hold. 
They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet; 
They were stripped to the waist, they were bare 
to the feet. 

As it was in the days of old. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 161 

It was the sinking Clampherdown 

Heaved up her battered side — 
And carried a million pounds in steel, 
To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel, 

And the scour of the Channel tide. 

It was the crew of the Clampherdown 

Stood out to sweep the sea, 
On a cruiser won from an ancient foe, 
As it was in the days of long ago, 

And as it still shall be! 



CRUISERS 

i 899 

AS OUR mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, 
Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line: 
So we, her bold daughters by iron and fire, 
Accost and decoy to our masters' desire. 

Now, pray you, consider what toils we endure, 
Night-walking wet sea-lanes, a guard and a lure; 
Since half of our trade is that same pretty sort 
As mettlesome wenches do practise in port. 

For this is our office: to spy and make room, 
As hiding yet guiding the foe to their doom. 
Surrounding, confounding, we bait and betray 
And tempt them to battle the seas' width away. 

The pot-bellied merchant foreboding no wrong 
With headlight and sidelight he lieth along, 
Till, lightless and lightfoot and lurking, leap we 
To force him discover his business by sea. 



1 62 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And when we have wakened the lust of a foe, 
To draw him by flight toward our bullies we go, 
Till, 'ware of strange smoke stealing nearer, he flies 
Or our bullies close in for to make him good prize. 

So, when we have spied on the path of their host, 
One flieth to carry that word to the coast; 
And, lest by false doublings they turn and go free, 
One lieth behind them to follow and see. 

Anon we return, being gathered again, 
Across the sad valleys all drabbled with rain — 
Across the grey ridges all crisped and curled — 
To join the long dance round the curve of the world. 

The bitter salt spindrift, the sun-glare likewise, 
The moon-track a-tremble, bewilders our eyes, 
Where, linking and lifting, our sisters we hail 
'Twixt wrench of cross-surges or plunge of head-gale. 

As maidens awaiting the bride to come forth 
Make play with light jestings and wit of no worth, 
So,widdershins circling the bride-bed of death, 
Each fleereth her neighbour and signeth and saith: — 

"What see ye? Their signals, or levin afar? 
"What hear ye? God's thunder, or guns of our war? 
"What mark ye? Their smoke, or the cloud-rack outblown? 
"What chase ye? Their lights, or the Daystar low down?" 

So, times past all number deceived by false shows, 
Deceiving we cumber the road of our foes, 
For this is our virtue: to track and betray; 
Preparing great battles a sea's width away. 

Now peace is at end and our peoples take hearty 

For the laws are clean gone that restrained our art; 

Up and down the near headlands and against the far wind 

We are loosed (0 be swift /) to the work of our kind I 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 163 

THE VERDICTS 

(jutland) 

1 9 1 6 

XTOT in the thick of the fight, 

Not in the press of the odds, 
Do the heroes come to their height* 
Or we know the demi-gods. 

That stands over till peace. 

We can only perceive 
Men returned from the seas, 

Very grateful for leave. 

They grant us sudden days 

Snatched from their business of war; 

But we are too close to appraise 
What manner of men they are. 

And, whether their names go down 

With age-kept victories, 
Or whether they battle and drown 

Unreckoned, is hid from our eyes. 

They are too near to be great, 

But our children shall understand 
When and how our fate 

Was changed, and by whose hand. 

Our children shall measure their worth. 

We are content to be blind . . . 
But we know that we walk on a new-born earth 

With the saviours of mankind. 



i6 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE DESTROYERS 

1898 

r T*HE strength of twice three thousand horse 

That seeks the single goal; 
The line that holds the rending course, 

The hate that swings the whole: 
The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom , 

At gaze and gone again — 
The Brides of Death that wait the groom — 

The Choosers of the Slain ! 

Offshore where sea and skyline blend 

In rain, the daylight dies; 
The sullen, shouldering swells attend 

Night and our sacrifice. 
Adown the stricken capes no flare — 

No mark on spit or bar, — 
Girdled and desperate we dare 

The blindfold game of war. 

Nearer the up-flung beams that spell 

The council of our foes; 
Clearer the barking guns that tell 

Their scattered flank to close. 
Sheer to the trap they crowd their way 

From ports for this unbarred. 
Quiet, and count our laden prey, 

The convoy and her guard! 

On shoal with scarce a foot below, 

Where rock and islet throng, 
Hidden and hushed we watch them throw 

Their anxious lights along. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 165 

Not here, not here your danger lies — 

(Stare hard, O hooded eyne !) 
Save where the dazed rock-pigeons rise 
The lit cliffs give no sign. 

Therefore — to break the rest ye seek, 

The Narrow Seas to clear — 
Hark to the siren's whimpering shriek — 

The driven death is here! 
Look to your van a league away, — 

What midnight terror stays 
The bulk that checks against the spray 

Her crackling tops ablaze? 

Hit, and hard hit! The blow went home, 

The muffled, knocking stroke — 
The steam that overruns the foam — 

The foam that thins to smoke — 
The smoke that clokes the deep aboil — 

The deep that chokes her throes 
Till, streaked with ash and sleeked with oil, 

The lukewarm whirlpools close! 

A shadow down the sickened wave 

Long since her slayer fled: 
But hear their chattering quick-fires rave 

Astern, abeam, ahead! 
Panic that shells the drifting spar — 

Loud waste with none to check — 
Mad fear that rakes a scornful star 

Or sweeps a consort's deck. 

Now, while their silly smoke hangs thick, 

Now ere their wits they find, 
Lay in and lance them to the quick — 

Our gallied whales are blind! 



1 66 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Good luck to those that see the end. 



Good-bye to those that drown — 
For each his chance as chance shall send — 
And God for all ! Shut down ! 

The strength of twice three thousand horse 

That serve the one com?nand; 
The hand that heaves the headlong force, • 

The hate that backs the hand: 
The doom-bolt in the darkness freed, 

The mine that splits the main; 
The white-hot wake, the 'wildering speed — 

The Choosers of the Slain ! 



WHITE HORSES 

1897 

JJ/' HERE run your colts at pasture ? 
Where hide your marcs to breed ? 
'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap 
Or wove Sargasso weed; 
By chartless reef and channel, 

Or crafty coastwise bars, 
But most the ocean-meadows 
All purple to the stars! 

Who holds the rein upon you ? 

The latest gale let free. 
What meat is in your mangers ? 

The glut of all the sea. 
'Twixt tide and tide's returning 

Great store of newly dead, — 
The bones of those that faced us, 

And the hearts of those that fled. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 167 

Afar, off-shore and single, 

Some stallion, rearing swift, 
Neighs hungry for new fodder, 

And calls us to the drift: 
Then down the cloven ridges — 

A million hooves unshod — 
Break forth the mad White Horses 

To seek their meat from God ! 



Girth-deep in hissing water 

Our furious vanguard strains — 
Through mist of mighty tramplings 

Roll up the fore-blown manes — 
A hundred leagues to leeward, 

Ere yet the deep is stirred, 
The groaning rollers carry 

The coming of the herd! 

Whose hand may grip your nostrils — 

Your forelock who may hold ? 
E'en they that use the broads with us- 

The riders bred and bold, 
That spy upon our matings, 

That rope us where we run — 
They know the strong White Horses 

From father unto son. 



We breathe about their cradles, 

We race their babes ashore, 
We snuff against their thresholds, 

We nuzzle at their door; 
By day with stamping squadrons, 

By night in whinnying droves, 
Creep up the wise White Horses, 

To call them from their loves. 



1 68 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And come they for your calling ? 

No wit of man may save. 
They hear the loosed White Horses 

Above their fathers' grave; 
And, kin of those we crippled, 

And, sons of those we slew, 
Spur down the wild white riders 

To school the herds anew. 

What service have ye paid them, 

Oh jealous steeds and strong ? 
Save we that throw their weaklings, 

Is none dare work them wrong; 
While thick around the homestead 

Our snow-backed leaders graze — 
A guard behind their plunder, 

And a veil before their ways. 

With march and countermarchings — 

With weight of wheeling hosts — 
Stray mob or bands embattled — 

We ring the chosen coasts: 
And, careless of our clamour 

That bids the stranger fly, 
At peace within our pickets 

The wild white riders lie. 



Trust ye the curdled hollows — 

Trust ye the neighing wind — 
Trust ye the moaning groundswell- 

Our herds are close behind! 
To bray your fbeman's armies — 

To chill and snap his sword — 
Trust ye the wild White Horses, 

The Horses of the Lord ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1335-1918 169 

A SONG IN STORM 

1 9 1 4 - 1 8 

RE WELL assured that on our side 

The abiding oceans fight, 
Though headlong wind and heaping tide 

Make us their sport to-night. 
By force of weather not of war 

In jeopardy we steer: 
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy 
Whereby it shall appear, 

How in all time of our distress, 

And our deliverance too, 

The game is more than the player of the game, 

And the ship is more than the crew! 

Out of the mist into the mirk 

The glimmering combers roll. 
Almost these mindless waters work 

As though they had a soul — 
Almost as though they leagued to whelm 

Our flag beneath their green: 
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy 

Whereby it shall be seen, etc. 

Be well assured, though wave and wind 

Have mightier blows in store, 
That we who keep the watch assigned 

Must stand to it the more; 
And as our streaming bows rebuke 

Each billow's baulked career, 
Sing, welcome Fate's discourtesy 

Whereby it is made clear, etc. 



i 7 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

No matter though our decks be swept 

And mast and timber crack — 
We can make good all loss except 

The loss of turning back. 
So, 'twixt these Devils and our deep 

Let courteous trumpets sound, 
To welcome Fate's discourtesy 

Whereby it will be found, etc. 

Be well assured, though in our power 

Is nothing left to give 
But chance and place to meet the hour, 

And leave to strive to live, 
Till these dissolve our Order holds, 

Our Service binds us here. 
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy 
Whereby it is made clear, 

How in all time of our distress, 

As in our triumph too, 

The game is more than the player of the game, 

And the ship is more than the crew! 



THE DERELICT 

1894 



'And reports the derelict 'Mary Pollock' still at sea" 

Shipping News. 



J WAS the staunchest of our fleet 
Till the sea rose beneath my feet 

Unheralded, in hatred past all measure. 
Into his pits he stamped my crew, 
Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw, 

Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 171 

Man made me, and my will 

Is to my maker still, 
Whom now the currents con, the rollers steer — 

Lifting forlorn to spy 

Trailed smoke along the sky, 
Falling afraid lest any keel come near! 



Wrenched as the lips of thirst, 

Wried, dried, and split and burst, 
Bone-bleached my decks, wind-scoured to the graining: 

And, jarred at every roll, 

The gear that was my soul 
Answers the anguish of my beams' complaining. 

For life that crammed me full, 

Gangs of the prying gull 
That shriek and scrabble on the riven hatches. 

For roar that dumbed the gale, 

My hawse-pipes' guttering wail, 
Sobbing my heart out through the uncounted watches. 



Blind in the hot blue ring 

Through all my points I swing — 
Swing and return to shift the sun anew. 

Blind in my well-known sky 

I hear the stars go by, 
Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true. 



White on my wasted path 

Wave after wave in wrath 
Frets 'gainst his fellow, warring where to send me. 

Flung forward, heaved aside, 

Witless and dazed I bide 
The mercy of the comber that shall end me. 



1 72 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

North where the bergs careen, 

The spray of seas unseen 
Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling. 

South where the corals breed, 

The footless, floating weed 
Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling. 

I that was clean to run 

My race against the sun — 
Strength on the deep — am bawd to all disaster; 

Whipped forth by night to meet 

My sister's careless feet, 
And with a kiss betray her to my master. 

Man made me, and my will 

Is to my maker still — 
To him and his, our peoples at their pier: 

Lifting in hope to spy 

Trailed smoke along the sky, 
Falling afraid lest any keel come near! 



THE MERCHANTMEN 

1893 

t/ING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, 

Because of his desire 
For peacocks, apes, and ivory, 

From Tarshish unto Tyre, 
With cedars out of Lebanon 

Which Hiram rafted down, 
But we be only sailormen 

That use in London town. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 i 7: 

Coastwise — cross-seas — round the world and back again — 
Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits — 

Plain-sail — storm-sail — lay your board and tack again — 
And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots ! 

We bring no store of ingots, 

Of spice or precious stones, 
But what we have we gathered 

With sweat and aching bones: 
In flame beneath the tropics, 

In frost upon the floe, 
And jeopardy of every wind 

That does between them go. 

And some we got by purchase, 

And some we had by trade, 
And some we found by courtesy 

Of pike and carronade — 
At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, 

For charity to keep, 
And light the rolling homeward-bound 

That rode a foot too deep ! 

By sport of bitter weather 

We're walty, strained, and scarred 
From the kentledge on the kelson 

To the slings upon the yard. 
Six oceans had their will of us 

To carry all away — 
Our galley's in the Baltic, 

And our boom's in Mossel Bay! 

We've floundered off the Texel, 

Awash with sodden deals, 
We've slipped from Valparaiso 

With the Norther at our heels: 



174 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We've ratched beyond the Crossets 

That tusk the Southern Pole, 
And dipped our gunnels under 

To the dread Agulhas roll. 

Beyond all outer charting 

We sailed where none have sailed, 
And saw the land-lights burning 

On islands none have hailed; 
Our hair stood up for wonder, 

But, when the night was done, 
There danced the deep to windward 

Blue-empty 'neath the sun! 

Strange consorts rode beside us 

And brought us evil luck; 
The witch-fire climbed our channels, 

And flared on vane and truck: 
Till, through the red tornado, 

That lashed us nigh to blind, 
We saw The Dutchman plunging, 

Full canvas, head to wind! 

We've heard the Midnight Leadsman 

That calls the black deep down — 
Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer, 

The Thing that may not drown. 
On frozen bunt and gasket 

The sleet-cloud drave her hosts, 
When, manned by more than signed with us 

We passed the Isle of Ghosts! 

And north, amid the hummocks, 

A biscuit-toss below, 
We met the silent shallop 

That frighted whalers know; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 175 

For, down a cruel ice-lane, 

That opened as he sped, 
We saw dead Hendrick Hudson 

Steer, North by West, his dead. 

So dealt God's waters with us 

Beneath the roaring skies, 
So walked His signs and marvels 

All naked to our eyes: 
But we were heading homeward 

With trade to lose or make — 
Good Lord, they slipped behind us 

In the tailing of our wake! 

Let go, let go the anchors; 

Now shamed at heart are we 
To bring so poor a cargo home 

That had for gift the sea! 
Let go the great bow-anchor — 

Ah, fools were we and blind — 
The worst we stored with utter toil, 

The best we left behind! 

Coastwise — cross-seas — round the world and back again. 
Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: 

Plain-sail — storm-sail — lay your board and tack again — 
And all to bring a cargo up to London Town I 



THE SONG OF DIEGO VALDEZ 

1902 

PHE God of Fair Beginnings 

Hath prospered here my hand — ■ 
The cargoes of my lading, 

And the keels of my command. 



1 7 6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For out of many ventures 

That sailed with hope as high, 

My own have made the better trade, 
And Admiral am I. 

To me my King's much honour, 

To me my people's love — 
To me the pride of Princes 

And power all pride above; 
To me the shouting cities, 

To me the mob's refrain: — 
"Who knows not noble Valdez, 

"Hath never heard of Spain." 

But I remember comrades — 

Old playmates on new seas — 
Whenas we traded orpiment 

Among the savages — 
A thousand leagues to south'ard 

And thirty years removed — 
They knew not noble Valdez, 

But me they knew and loved. 

Then they that found good liquor, 

They drank it not alone, 
And they that found fair plunder, 

They told us every one, 
About our chosen islands 

Or secret shoals between, 
When, weary from far voyage, 

We gathered to careen. 

There burned our breaming- fagots 
All pale along the shore: 

There rose our worn pavilions — 
A sail above an oar: 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 177 

As flashed each yearning anchor 

Through mellow seas afire, 
So swift our careless captains 

Rowed each to his desire. 



Where lay our loosened harness? 

Where turned our naked feet? 
Whose tavern 'mid the palm-trees? 

What quenchings of what heat? 
Oh fountain in the desert! 

Oh cistern in the waste! 
Oh bread we ate in secret! 

Oh cup we spilled in haste! 

The youth new-taught of longing, 

The widow curbed and wan, 
The good wife proud at season, 

And the maid aware of man — 
All souls unslaked, consuming 

Defrauded in delays, 
Desire not more their quittance 

Than I those forfeit days! 

I dreamed to wait my pleasure 

Unchanged my spring would bide: 
Wherefore, to wait my pleasure, 

I put my spring aside 
Till, first in face of Fortune, 

And last in mazed disdain, 
I made Diego Valdez 

High Admiral of Spain. 

Then walked no wind 'neath Heaven 
Nor surge that did not aid — 

I dared extreme occasion, 
Nor ever one betrayed. 



1 7 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They wrought a deeper treason — 
(Led seas that served my needs!) 

They sold Diego Valdez 
To bondage of great deeds. 

The tempest flung me seaward, 

And pinned and bade me hold 
The course I might not alter — 

And men esteemed me bold! 
The calms embayed my quarry, 

The fog-wreath sealed his eyes; 
The dawn-wind brought my topsails — 

And men esteemed me wise! 

Yet, 'spite my tyrant triumphs, 

Bewildered, dispossessed — 
My dream held I before me — 

My vision of my rest; 
But, crowned by Fleet and People, 

And bound by King and Pope — 
Stands here Diego Valdez 

To rob me of my hope. 

No prayer of mine shall move him. 

No word of his set free 
The Lord of Sixty Pennants 

And the Steward of the Sea. 
His will can loose ten thousand 

To seek their loves again — 
But not Diego Valdez, 

High Admiral of Spain. 

There walks no wind 'neath Heaven 
Nor wave that shall restore 

The old careening riot 

And the clamorous, crowded shore— 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 179 

The fountain in the desert, 

The cistern in the waste, 
The bread we ate in secret, 

The cup we spilled in haste. 

Now call I to my Captains — 

For council fly the sign, 
Now leap their zealous galleys, 

Twelve-oared, across the brine. 
To me the straiter prison, 

To me the heavier chain — 
To me Diego Valdez, 

High Admiral of Spain! 



THE SECOND VOYAGE 

1 903 

VVTE'VE sent our little Cupids all ashore — • 

They were frightened, they were tired, they were 
cold : 
Our sails of silk and purple go to store, 

And we've cut away our mast of beaten gold 
(Foul weather!) 
Oh 'tis hemp and singing pine for to stand against the brine, 
But Love he is our master as of old! 

The sea has shorn our galleries away, 

The salt has soiled our gilding past remede; 

Our paint is flaked and blistered by the spray, 
Our sides are half a fathom furred in weed 
(Foul weather!) 

And the Doves of Venus fled and the petrels came instead, 
But Love he was our master at our need! 



i8o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

'Was Youth would keep no vigil at the bow, 

'Was Pleasure at the helm too drunk to steer — 
We've shipped three able quartermasters now. 
Men call them Custom, Reverence, and Fear 
(Foul weather!) 
They are old and scarred and plain, but we'll run no risk 
again 
From any Port o' Paphos mutineer! 



We seek no more the tempest for delight, 

We skirt no more the indraught and the shoal — 

We ask no more of any day or night 

Than to come with least adventure to our goal 
(Foul weather!) 

What we find we needs must brook, but we do not go to look, 
Nor tempt the Lord our God that saved us whole. 



Yet, caring so, not overmuch we care 

To brace and trim for every foolish blast, 
If the squall be pleased to sweep us unaware, 
He may bellow off to leeward like the last 
(Foul weather!) 
We will blame it on the deep (for the watch must have their 
sleep), 
And Love can come and wake us when 'tis past. 

Oh launch them down with music from the beach, 

Oh warp them out with garlands from the quays- 
Most resolute — a damsel unto each — 
New prows that seek the old Hesperides! 
(Foul weather!) 
Though we know their voyage is vain, yet we see our path 
again 
In the saffroned bridesails scenting all the seas! 
(Foul weather!) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 181 

THE OLDEST SONG 

For before Eve was Lilith. — Old Tale. 



"HPHESE were never your true love's eyes. 

Why do you feign that you love them ? 
You that broke from their constancies, 
And the wide calm brows above them! 



This was never your true love's speech. 

Why do you thrill when you hear it? 
You that have ridden out of its reach 

The width of the world or near it! 

This was never your true love's hair, — 
You that chafed when it bound you 

Screened from knowledge or shame or care, 
In the night that it made around you!" 

"All these things I know, I know. 

And that's why my heart is breaking!" 
"Then what do you gain by pretending so?" 

"The joy of an old wound waking." 



THE LINER SHE'S A LADY 

1894 

THE Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds— 
The Man-o'-W 7 ar's 'er 'usband, an' 'e gives 'er all she 
needs; 
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun\ 
They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an' down! 



182 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Ply in* up an' down, Jenny, 'angin round the Yard, 

All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth ' Ard; 

Any thin' for business, an y we're growin old — 

Ply in up an down, Jenny, waitin in the cold I 



The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face, 
An' if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace. 
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e 's always 'andy by, 
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, they've got to load or die! 



The Liner she's a lady, and 'er route is cut an' dried; 
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e always keeps beside; 
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that 'aven't any man, 
They've got to do their business first, and make the most they 
can! 



The Liner she's a lady, and if a war should come, 
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e'd bid 'er stay at home; 
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide! 
'E'd 'ave to up an' fight for them for they are England's pride. 



The Liner she's a lady, but if she was n't made, 

There still would be the cargo-boats for 'ome an' foreign 

trade. 
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, but if we wasn't 'ere, 
'E would n't have to fight at all for 'ome an' friends so dear. 



'Ome an friends so dear, Jenny, 'angin round the Yard, 
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard; 
Any thin' for business, an we're growin old — 
9 Ome an friends so dear, Jenny, waitin in the cold I 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 i8j 

THE FIRST CHANTEY 

1896 

TV/f INE was the woman to me, darkling I found her: 

Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound 
her. 
Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her; 
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her. 

Swift through the forest we ran, none stood to guard us, 
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us — 
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen. 
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen. 

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter, 
Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water; 
Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, 
Called she the God of the Wind that He should aid her. 

Life had the tree at that word (Praise we the Giver!) 
Otter-like left he the bank for the full river. 
Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing, 
Wonder was on me and fear — yet she was singing! 

Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us, 
Even the Floor of the Gods level around us. 
Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing, 
Till the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing. 

Then did He leap to His place flaring from under, 
He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder. 
Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing, 
Cleared He the Gate of the World, huge and amazing! 



i8 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

This we beheld (and we live) — the Pit of the Burning! 
Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning; 
Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly, 
Back to our slayers went he: but we were holy. 

Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed, 
Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed 
Over the necks of the Tribe crouching and fawning — 
Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning! 



THE LAST CHANTEY 

1892 

" And there was no more sea' 

PHUS said the Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim, 
Calling to the Angels and the Souls in their degree: 
"Lo! Earth has passed away 
On the smoke of Judgment Day. 
That Our word may be established shall We gather up the 
sea: 

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: 

"Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee! 
But the war is done between us, 
In the deep the Lord hath seen us — 
Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink 
the sea!" 

Then said the soul of Judas that betrayed Him: 

"Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me? 
How once a year I go 
To cool me on the floe ? 
And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea. " 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 185 

Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-shore Wind: 
(He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers 
flee): 
"I have watch and ward to keep 
O'er Thy wonders on the deep, 
And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the 



Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: 

"Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we. 
If we worked the ship together 
Till she foundered in foul weather, 
Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on 
the sea?" 



Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard : 
"Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we; 
But Thy arm was strong to save, 
And it touched us on the wave, 
And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore 
the sea." 



Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God: 
"Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily. 
There were fourteen score of these, 
And they blessed Thee on their knees, 
When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by 
the sea!" 



Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, 

Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily: 
"Our thumbs are rough and tarred, 
And the tune is something hard — 
May we lift a Deepsea Chantey such as seamen use at 
sear 



1 86 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers — 
Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: 
"Ho, we revel in our chains 
O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; 
Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the 
sea!" 



Up spake the soul of a grey Gothavn 'speckshioner — 

(He that led the flenching in the fleets of fair Dundee): 
"Oh, the ice-blink white and near, 
And the bowhead breaching clear! 
Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the 
sea: 



Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, 

Crying: "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lee! 

Must we sing for evermore 

On the windless, glassy floor? 
Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!" 



Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to 
Him, 
And 'stablished its borders unto all eternity, 
That such as have no pleasure 
For to praise the Lord by measure, 
They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea. 



Sun, Wind, and Cloud shall jail not from the j ace of it, 
Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free; 
And the ships shall go abroad 
To the Glory of the Lord 
Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea I 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 187 

THE EXILES' LINE 

1890 

I^OW the new year reviving old desires, 
The restless soul to open sea aspires, 
Where the Blue Peter flickers from the fore, 
And the grimed stoker feeds the engine-fires. 

Coupons, alas, depart with all their rows, 

And last year's sea-met loves where Grindlay knows; 

But still the wild wind wakes off Gardafui, 
And hearts turn eastward with the P. and O's. 



Twelve knots an hour, be they more or less — 
Oh slothful mother of much idleness, 

Whom neither rivals spur nor contracts speed! 
Nay, bear us gently! Wherefore need we press? 

The Tragedy of all our East is laid 
On those white decks beneath the awning shade — 
Birth, absence, longing, laughter, love and tears, 
And death unmaking ere the land is made. 

And midnight madnesses of souls distraught 
Whom the cool seas call through the open port, 
So that the table lacks one place next morn, 
And for one forenoon men forego their sport. 

The shadow of the rigging to and fro 

Sways, shifts, and flickers on the spar-deck's snow, 

And like a giant trampling in his chains, 
The screw-blades gasp and thunder deep below; 



188 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And, leagued to watch one flying-fish's wings, 
Heaven stoops to sea, and sea to Heaven clings; 

While, bent upon the ending of his toil, 
The hot sun strides, regarding not these things: 

For the same wave that meets our stem in spray 
Bore Smith of Asia eastward yesterday, 

And Delhi Jones and Brown of Midnapore 
To-morrow follow on the self-same way. 



Linked in the chain of Empire one by one, 
Flushed with long leave, or tanned with many a sun, 

The Exiles' Line brings out the exiles' line 
And ships them homeward when their work is done. 

Yea, heedless of the shuttle through the loom, 
The flying keels fulfil the web of doom. 

Sorrow or shouting — what is that to them? 
Make out the cheque that pays for cabin room! 

And how so many score of times ye flit 
With wife and babe and caravan of kit, 

Not all thy travels past shall lower one fare, 
Not all thy tears abate one pound of it. 

And how so high thine earth-born dignity, 
Honour and state, go sink it in the sea, 

Till that great one upon the quarter deck, 
Brow-bound with gold, shall give thee leave to be. 

Indeed, indeed from that same line we swear 
Off for all time, and mean it when we swear; 

And then, and then we meet the Quartered Flag, 
.And, surely for the last time, pay the fare. 



i 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 189 

And Green of Kensington, estrayed to view 

In three short months the world he never knew, 

Stares with blind eyes upon the Quartered Flag 
And sees no more than yellow, red and blue. 



But we, the gypsies of the East, but we — 
Waifs of the land and wastrels of the sea — 

Come nearer home beneath the Quartered Flag 
Than ever home shall come to such as we. 



The camp is struck, the bungalow decays, 
Dead friends and houses desert mark our ways, 

Till sickness send us down to Prince's Dock 
To meet the changeless use of many days. 

Bound in the wheel of Empire, one by one, 
The chain-gangs of the East from sire to son, 

The Exiles' Line takes out the exiles' line 
And ships them homeward when their work is done. 

How runs the old indictment? "Dear and slow," 
So much and twice so much. We gird, but go. 

For all the soul of our sad East is there, 
Beneath the house-flag of the P. and O. 



THE LONG TRAIL 

PHERE'S a whisper down the field where the year has 
shot her yield, 
And the ricks stand grey to the sun, 
Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the 
clover, 
"And your English summer's done.' 



r 



i 9 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind, 

And the thresh of the deep-sea rain; 

You have heard the song — how long? how long? 

Pull out on the trail again! 
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass, 
We've seen the seasons through, 
And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the 

out trail, 
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail — the trail that is 
always new! 

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun 

Or South to the blind Horn's hate; 
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, 
Or West to the Golden Gate — 

Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, 

And the wildest tales are true, 

And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
And life runs large on the Long Trail — the trail that 
is always new. 

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old, 

And the twice-breathed airs blow damp; 
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll 
Of a black Bilbao tramp, 

With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass, 

And a drunken Dago crew, 

And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail 
From Cadiz south on the Long Trail — the trail that 
is always new. 

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, 

Or the way of a man with a maid; 
But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea 

In the heel of the North-East Trade. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 191 

Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass, 

And the drum of the racing screw, 

As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail — the trail 

that is always new? 



See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore, 

And the fenders grind and heave, 
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the 
crate, 
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave; 
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass, 
It's "Hawsers warp her through!" 
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
We're backing down on the Long Trail — the trail that 
is always new. 

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied, 

And the sirens hoot their dread, 
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep 
To the sob of the questing lead! 

It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass, 

With the Gunfleet Sands in view, 

Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail — the trail 
that is always new. 

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light 

That holds the hot sky tame, 
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered 
floors 

Where the scared whale flukes in flame! 



1 92 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Her plates are flaked by the sun, dear lass, 

And her ropes are taut with the dew, 

For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
We're sagging south on the Long Trail — the trail that 

is always new. 



Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb, 

And the shouting seas drive by, 
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and 
swing, 
And the Southern Cross rides high! 

Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass, 

That blaze in the velvet blue. 

They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
They're God's own guide on the Long Trail — the trail 
that is always new. 



Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start — 

We're steaming all too slow, 
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle 
Where the trumpet-orchids blow! 

You have heard the call of the off-shore wind 
And the voice of the deep-sea rain; 
You have heard the song. How long — how long? 
Pull out on the trail again! 



The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass, 

And The Deuce knows what we may do — 

But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, 

the out trail, 
We're down, hull-down, on the Long Trail — the trail 

that is always new? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 193 

IN THE MATTER OF ONE COMPASS 
1892 

\17HEN, foot to wheel and back to wind, 
The helmsman dare not look behind, 
But hears beyond his compass-light, 
The blind bow thunder through the night, 
And, like a harpstring ere it snaps, 
The rigging sing beneath the caps; 
Above the shriek of storm in sail 

Or rattle of the blocks blown free, 
Set for the peace beyond the gale, 
This song the Needle sings the Sea: 



Oh, drunken Wave ! Oh, driving Cloud I 
Rage of the Deep and sterile Rain, 

By Love upheld, by God allowed, 
We go, but we return again ! 



When leagued about the 'wildered boat 
The rainbow Jellies fill and float, 
And, lilting where the laver lingers, 
The Starfish trips on all her fingers; 
Where, 'neath his myriad spines ashock, 
The Sea-egg ripples down the rock, 
x^n orange wonder dimly guessed 
From darkness where the Cuttles rest, 
Moored o'er the darker deeps that hide 
The blind white Sea-snake and his bride, 
Who, drowsing, nose the long-lost Ships 
Let down through darkness to their lips— 
Safe-swung above the glassy death, 
Hear what the constant Needle saith; 



194 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Oh, lisping Reef] Oh, listless Cloud, 
In slumber on a pulseless main ! 

By Love upheld, by God allowed, 
We go, but we return again ! 

E 'en so through Tropic and through Trade, 

Awed by the shadow of new skies, 
As we shall watch old planets fade 

And mark the stranger stars arise, 
So, surely, back through Sun and Cloud, 

So, surely, from the outward main 
By Love recalled, by God allowed, 

Shall we return — return again! 

Yea, we return — return again ! 



A SONG OF THE ENGLISH 

1893 

pTAIR is our lot — goodly is our heritage ! 

{Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth !) 

For the Lord our God Most High 

He hath made the deep as dry, 
He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the Earth I 

Yea, though we sinned, and our rulers went from righteousness — 
Deep in all dishonour though we stained our garments* hem, 

Oh be ye not dismayed, 

Though we stumbled and we strayed, 
We were led by evil counsellors — the Lord shall deal with them ! 

Hold ye the Faith — the Faith our Fathers sealed us; 
Whoring not with visions — overwise and overstate. 

Except ye pay the Lord 

Single heart and single sword, 
Of your children in their bondage He shall ask them treble-tale! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 195 

Keep ye the Law — be swift in all obedience — 

Clear the land of evil, drive the road and bridge the ford. 

Make ye sure to each his own 

That he reap where he hath sown; 
By the peace among Our peoples let men know we serve the Lord ! 



Hear now a song — a song of broken interludes — 
A song of little cunning; of a singer nothing worth. 

Through the naked words and mean 

May ye see the truth between, 
As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the Earth ! 



THE COASTWISE LIGHTS 

/~\UR brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on 

our knees; 
Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking 

seas. 
From reef and rock and skerry — over headland, ness, and 

voe — 
The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England 

go! 

Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level 

floors; 
Through the yelling Channel tempest when the siren hoots 

and roars — 
By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's 

trail — 
As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where 

they hail. 



196 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsman have a care, 
The flash that, wheeling inland, wakes his sleeping wife to 

prayer. 
From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning 

chains 
The lover from the sea-rim drawn — his love in English 

lanes. 

We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern 

wool; 
We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith, and 

Hull; 
To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the sea — 
The white wall-sided warships or the whalers of Dundee! 

Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guardports of the 

Morn! 
Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn! 
Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us main to 

main, 
The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back 

again ! 

Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your 

plates; 
Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights! 
Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any seek, 
The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye speak! 



THE SONG OF THE DEAD 

J-JEAR now the Song of the Dead — in the North by the torn 

berg-edges — 
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped 

sledges. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 197 

Song of the Dead in the South — in the sun by their skeleton 

horseSy 
Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of 

the sere river-courses. 

Song of the Dead in the East — in the heat-rotted jungle-hollows, 

Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof — in the brake of the buffalo- 
wallows. 

Song of the Dead in the West — in the Barrens ', the pass that 
betrayed them. 

Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and 
the grave-mound they made them; 

Hear now the Song of the Dead I 

I 

We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled 

town; 
We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go 

down. 
Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the 

Need, 
Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead. 
As the deer breaks — as the steer breaks — from the herd 

where they graze, 
In the faith of little children we went on our ways. 
Then the wood failed — then the food failed — then the last 

water dried — 
In the faith of little children we lay down and died. 
On the sand-drift — on the veldt-side — in the fern-scrub we 

lay, 
That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way. 
Follow after — follow after ! We have watered the root, 
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit! 
Follow after — we are waiting, by the trails that we lost, 
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host. 
Follow after — follow after — for the harvest is sown: 
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own! 



198 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When T>rake went down to the Horn 
And England was crowned thereby ', 

'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed 
Our Lodge — our Lodge was born 
{And England was crowned thereby !) 

Which never shall close azain 

By day nor yet by night, 
While man shall take his life to stake 

At risk of shoal or main 

{By day nor yet by night) 

But standeth even so 

As now we witness here, 
While ?nen depart, of joyful hearty 

Adventure for to know 

{As now bear witness here !) 

II 

We have fed our sea for a thousand years 

And she calls us, still unfed, 
Though there's never a wave of all her waves 

But marks our English dead: 
We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest s 

To the shark and the sheering gull. 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 

Lord God, we ha' paid in full! 

There's never a flood goes shoreward now 

But lifts a keel we manned; 
There's never an ebb goes seaward now 

But drops our dead on the sand — 
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, 

From the Ducies to the Swin. 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 

Lord God, we ha' paid it in! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 199 

We must feed our sea for a thousand years, 

For that is our doom and pride, 
As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind, 

Or the wreck that struck last tide — 
Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef 

Where the ghastly blue-lights flare. 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 
If blood be the price of admiralty, 

Lord God, we ha' bought it fair! 



THE DEEP-SEA CABLES 

PHE wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down 

from afar — 
Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white 

sea-snakes are. 
There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the 

deep, 
Or the great grey level plains of ooze where the shell-burred 

cables creep. 

Here in the womb of the world — here on the tie-ribs of earth 
Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat — 

Warning, sorrow, and gain, salutation and mirth — 

For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor 
feet. 

They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed 
their father Time; 
Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of the 
sun. 
Hush! Men talk to-day o'er the waste of the ultimate slime, 
And a new Word runs between: whispering, "Let us be 
one! 



2oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE SONG OF THE SONS 

("~YNE from the ends of the earth — gifts at an open door — 
Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more ! 
From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wo]f-pack 

freed, 
Turn, and the world is thine. Mother, be proud of thy seed ! 
Count, are we feeble or few? Hear, is our speech so rude? 
Look, are we poor in the land? Judge, are we men of The 

Blood? 

Those that have stayed at thy knees, Mother, go call them 

in — 
We that were bred overseas wait and would speak with our 

kin. 
Not in the dark do we fight — haggle and flout and gibe; 
Selling our love for a price, loaning our hearts for a bribe. 
Gifts have we only to-day — Love without promise or fee — 
Hear, for thy children speak, from the uttermost parts of the 

sea! 



THE SONG OF THE CITIES 

BOMBAY 

I> OYAL and Dower-royal, I the Queen 

Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands — 
A thousand mills roar through me where I glean 
All races from all lands. 

CALCUTTA 

Me the Sea-captain loved, the River built, 

Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold. 

Hail, England! I am Asia — Power on silt, 
Death in my hands, but Gold! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1835-1918 201 



MADRAS 



Ciive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow, 

Wonderful kisses, so that I became 
Crowned above Queens — a withered beldame now, 

Brooding on ancient fame. 



RANGOON 



Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade? 

Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone, 
And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid, 

Laugh 'neath my Shwe Dagon. 



SINGAPORE 



Hail, Mother! East and West must seek my aid 
Ere the spent hull may dare the ports afar. 

The second doorway of the wide world's trade 
Is mine to loose or bar. 



HONG-KONG 



Hail, Mother! Hold me fast; my Pray a sleeps 

Under innumerable keels to-day. 
Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps 

Thy warships down the bay! 



HALIFAX 



Into the mist my guardian prows put forth, 
Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie, 

The Warden of the Honour of the North, 
Sleepless and veiled am I ! 



QUEBEC AND MONTREAL 



Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose, 
Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate. 

Now wake we and remember mighty blows, 
And, fearing no man, wait! 



202 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



VICTORIA 



From East to West the circling word has passed. 

Till West is East beside our land-locked blue; 
From East to West the tested chain holds fast, 

The well-forged link rings true ! 



CAPETOWN 



Hail! Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand, 
I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine, 

Of Empire to the northward. Ay, one land 
From Lion's Head to Line! 



MELBOURNE 



Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place, 
Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth, 

Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race 
That whips our harbour-mouth! 



SYDNEY 



Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good; 

Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness: 
The first flush of the tropics in my blood, 

And at my feet Success ! 

BRISBANE 

The northern stirp beneath the southern skies — 

I build a Nation for an Empire's need, 
Suffer a little, and my land shall rise, 

Queen over lands indeed ! 

hobart 

Man's love first found me; man's hate made me Hell 
For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies. 

Earnest for leave to live and labour well, 
God flung me peace and ease. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 203 



AUCKLAND 



Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart — 
On us, on us the unswerving season smiles, 

Who wonder 'mid our fern why men depart 
To seek the Happy Isles! 



ENGLAND'S ANSWER 

"PRULY ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to 

ban, 
Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man — 
Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare; 
Stark as your sons shall be — stern as your fathers were. 
Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether, 
But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come to- 
gether. 
My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by; 
Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry. 
Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors, 
That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors — 
Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas, 
Ay, talk to your grey mother that bore you on her knees! — • 
That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face — 
Thus for the good of your peoples — thus for the Pride of 

the Race. 
Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures, 
I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my 

strength is yours: 
In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, 
That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall. 
Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands, 
And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your 

lands. 
This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom, 
This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom. 



2o 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press mv 

will, 
Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still. 
Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to 

you, 
After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and 

few. 
Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways, 
Baulking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise. 
Stand to your work and be wise — certain of sword and pen, 
Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of 

men! 



THE HOUSES 

1898 

(A Song of the Dominions) 

^'T^WIXT my house and thy house the pathway is broad, 

In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard; 
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate, 
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate. 

For my house and thy house no help shall we find 
Save thy house and my house — kin cleaving to kind; 
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon. 
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon. 

'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be 

Of headship or lordship, or service or fee? 

Since my house to thy house no greater can send 

Than thy house to my house — friend comforting friend; 

And thy house to my house no meaner can bring 

Than my house to thy house — King counselling King. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 205 

TO THE CITY OF BOMBAY 

1894 

T^HE Cities are full of pride, 

Challenging each to each — 
This from her mountain-side, 
That from her burdened beach. 

They count their ships full tale — 

Their corn and oil and wine, 
Derrick and loom and bale, 

And rampart's gun-flecked line; 
City by City they hail: 

"Hast aught to match with mine?" 

And the men that breed from them 

They traffic up and down, 
But cling to their cities' hem 

As a child to the mother's gown. 

When they talk with the stranger bands. 

Dazed and newly alone; 
When they walk in the stranger lands, 

By roaring streets unknown; 
Blessing her where she stands 

For strength above their own. 

(On high to hold her fame 

That stands all fame beyond, 
By oath to back the same, 

Most faithful-foolish-fond; 
Making her mere-breathed name 

Their bond upon their bond.) 






206 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

So thank I God my birth 

Fell not in isles aside — 
Waste headlands of the earth, 

Or warring tribes untried — 
But that she lent me worth 

And gave me right to pride. 



Surely in toil or fray 
Under an alien sky, 

Comfort it is to say: 
"Of no mean city am I! 



(Neither by service nor fee 

Come I to mine estate — ■ 
Mother of Cities to me, 

But I was born in her gate, 
Between the palms and the sea, 

Where the world-end steamers waito) 



Now for this debt I owe, 
And for her far-borne cheer 

Must I make haste and go 
With tribute to her pier. 



And she shall touch and remit 
After the use of kings 

(Orderly, ancient, fit) 

My deep-sea plunderings, 

And purchase in all lands. 
And this we do for a sign 
Her power is over mine, 

And mine I hold at her hands! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 207 

THE GIPSY TRAIL 

"PHE white moth to the closing bine, 

The bee to the opened clover, 
And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood 
Ever the wide world over. 

Ever the wide world over, lass, 

Ever the trail held true, 
Over the world and under the world, 

And back at the last to you. 

Out of the dark of the gorgio camp, 

Out of the grime and the gray 
(Morning waits at the end of the world), 

Gipsy, come away! 

The wild boar to the sun-dried swamp, 

The red crane to her reed, 
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad 

By the tie of a roving breed. 

The pied snake to the rifted rock, 

The buck to the stony plain, 
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad, 

And both to the road again. 

Both to the road again, again! 

Out on a clean sea-track — 
Follow the cross of the gipsy trail 

Over the world and back! 

Follow the Romany patteran 

North where the blue bergs sail, 
x-\nd the bows are gray with the frozen spray, 

And the masts are shod with mail. 



20S RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Follow the Romany patteran 

Sheer to the Austral Light, 
Where the besom of God is the wild South wind, 

Sweeping the sea-floors white. 

Follow the Romany patteran 

West to the sinking sun, 
Till the junk-sails lift through the houseless drift, 

And the east and the west are one. 

Follow the Romany patteran 

East where the silence broods 
By a purple wave on an opal beach 

In the hush of the Mahim woods. 

"The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, 

The deer to the wholesome wold 
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, 

As it was in the days of old." 

The heart of a man to the heart of a maid — 

Light of my tents, be fleet. 
Morning waits at the end of the world, 

And the world is all at our feet! 



OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS 

i 897 

{Canadian Preferential Tariff 1 897) 

A NATION spoke to a Nation, 

A Queen sent word to a Throne; 
"Daughter am I in my mother's house, 
But mistress in my own. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 209 

The gates are mine to open, 

As the gates are mine to close, 
And I set my house in order," 

Said our Lady of the Snows. 

"Neither with laughter nor weeping, 

Fear or the child's amaze — 
Soberly under the White Man's law 

My white men go their ways. 
Not for the Gentiles' clamour — 

Insult or threat of blows — 
Bow we the knee to Baal," 

Said our Lady of the Snows. 

"My speech is clean and single, 

I talk of common things — 
Words of the wharf and the market-place 

And the ware the merchant brings: 
Favour to those I favour, 

But a stumbling-block to my foes. 
Many there be that hate us," 

Said our Lady of the Snows, 

"I called my chiefs to council 

In the din of a troubled year; 
For the sake of a sign ye would not see, 

And a word ye would not hear. 
This is our message and answer; 

This is the path we chose: 
For we be also a people," 

Said our Lady of the Snows. 

"Carry the word to my sisters — 

To the Queens of the East and the South t 

I have proven faith in the Heritage 
By more than the word of the mouth. 



aio RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I 
They that are wise may follow 

Ere the world's war-trumpet blows.; 
But I — I am first in the battle," 

Said our Lady of the Snows, 

A Nation spoke to a Nation, 

A Throne sent word to a Throne: 
"Daughter am I in my mother s house, 

But mistress in my own. 
The gates are mine to open. 

As the gates are mine to close, 
And I abide by my Mother s House™ 

Said our Lady of the Snows, 



AN AMERICAN 

i 894 
The American Spirit speaks: 

TF THE Led Striker call it a strike, 

Or the papers call it a war, 
They know not much what I am like, 
Nor what he is, my Avatar. 

Through many roads, by me possessed 5 
He shambles forth in cosmic guise; 

He is the Jester and the Jest, 
And he the Text himself applies. 

The Celt is in his heart and hand, 
The Gaul is in his brain and nerve; 

Where, cosmopolitanly planned, 

He guards the Redskin's dry reserve 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 211 

His easy unswept hearth he lends 

From Labrador to Guadeloupe; 
Till, elbowed out by sloven friends, 

He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop. 

Calm-eyed he scoffs at Sword and Crown, 

Or, panic-blinded, stabs and slays: 
Blatant he bids the world bow down, 

Or cringing begs a crust of praise; 

Or, sombre-drunk, at mine and mart, 

He dubs his dreary brethren Kings. 
His hands are black with blood — his heart 

Leaps, as a babe's, at little things. 

But, through the shift of mood and mood, 
Mine ancient humour saves him whole — 

The cynic devil in his blood 

That bids him mock his hurrying soul; 

That bids him flout the Law he makes, 
That bids him make the Law he flouts, 

Till, dazed by many doubts, he wakes 

The drumming guns that — have no doubts; 

That checks him foolish-hot and fond, 
That chuckles through his deepest ire, 

That gilds the slough of his despond 
But dims the goal of his desire; 

Inopportune, shrill-accented, 

The acrid Asiatic mirth 
That leaves him, careless 'mid his dead, 

The scandal of the elder earth. 



212 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

How shall he clear himself, how reach 
Your bar or weighed defence prefer — 

A brother hedged with alien speech 
And lacking all interpreter? 



Which knowledge vexes him a space; 

But, while Reproof around him rings, 
He turns a keen untroubled face 

Home, to the instant need of things. 



Enslaved, illogical, elate, 

He greets the embarrassed Gods, nor fears 
To shake the iron hand of Fate 

Or match with Destiny for beers. 



Lo, imperturbable he rules, 
Unkempt, disreputable, vast — 

And, in the teeth of all the schools, 
I — I shall save him at the last! 



THE CHOICE 

i 9 i 7 

The American Spirit speaks: 



fO the Judge of Right and Wrong 

With Whom fulfilment lies 
Our purpose and our power belongs 
Our faith and sacrifice. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 213 

Let Freedom's Land rejoice! 

Our ancient bonds are riven; 
Once more to us the eternal choice 

Of Good or 111 is given. 

Not at a little cost, 

Hardly by prayer or tears, 
Shall we recover the road we lost 

In the drugged and doubting years. 

But, after the fires and the wrath, 

But, after searching and pain, 
His Mercy opens us a path 

To live with ourselves again. 

In the Gates of Death rejoice! 

We see and hold the good — 
Bear witness, Earth, we have made our choice 

With Freedom's brotherhood! 



Then praise the Lord Most High 

Whose Strength hath saved us whole, 

Who bade us choose that the Flesh should die 
And not the living Soul ! 

To the God in Man displayed — 

Wheree'er we see that Birth, 
Be love and understanding paid 

As never yet on earth I 

To the Spirit that moves in Man, 

On Whom all worlds depend. 
Be Glory since our world began 

And service to the end I 



2i4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE YOUNG QUEEN 

1900 

{The Commonwealth of Australia, inaugurated New Year's Day, 1901) 

UER hand was still on her sword-hilt, the spur was still 

on her heel, 
She had not cast her harness of grey, war-dinted steel; 
High on her red-splashed charger, beautiful, bold, and 

browned, 
Bright-eyed out of the battle, the Young Queen rode to be 

crowned. 

She came to the Old Queen's presence, in the Hall of Our 

Thousand Years — 
In the Hall of the Five Free Nations that are peers among 

their peers: 
Royal she gave the greeting, loyal she bowed the head, 
Crying — "Crown me, my Mother!" And the Old Queen 

rose and said: — 

"How can I crown thee further? I know whose standard 

flies 
Where the clean surge takes the Leeuwin or the coral barriers 

rise. 
Blood of our foes on thy bridle, and speech of our friends in 

thy mouth — 
How can I crown thee further, O Queen of the Sovereign 

South? 

"Let the Five Free Nations witness!" But the Young 

Queen answered swift: — 
"It shall be crown of Our crowning to hold Our crown for a 

gift. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 215 

In the days when Our folk were feeble thy sword made sure 

Our lands: 
Wherefore We come in power to take Our crown at thy 

hands." 



And the Old Queen raised and kissed her, and the jealous 
circlet prest, 

Roped with the pearls of the Northland and red with the gold 
of the West, 

Lit with her land's own opals, levin-hearted, alive, 

And the Five-starred Cross above them, for sign of the Na- 
tions Five. 



So it was done in the Presence — in the Hall of Our Thou- 
sand Years, 

In the face of the Five Free Nations that have no peer but 
their peers; 

And the Young Queen out of the Southland kneeled down at 
the Old Queen's knee, 

And asked for a mother's blessing on the excellent years to be. 



And the Old Queen stooped in the stillness where the jewelled 

head drooped low: — 
"Daughter no more but Sister, and doubly Daughter so — 
Mother of many princes — and child of the child I bore, 
What good thing shall I wish thee that I have not wished 

before ? 



"Shall I give thee delight in dominion — mere pride of thy 

setting forth? 
Nay, we be women together — we know what that lust is 

worth. 
Peace in thy utmost borders, and strength on a road untrod ? 
These are dealt or diminished at the secret will of God. 



216 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"I have swayed troublous councils, I am wise in terrible 

things; 
Father and son and grandson, I have known the hearts of the 

Kings. 
Shall I give thee my sleepless wisdom, or the gift all wisdom 

above ? 
Ay, we be women together — I give thee thy people's love: 

"Tempered, august, abiding, reluctant of prayers or vows, 
Eager in face of peril as thine for thy mother's house. 
God requite thee, my Sister, through the excellent years to be, 
And make thy people to love thee as thou hast loved me!" 



THE FLOWERS 



i 895 

" To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic, almost arti- 
ficial, in songs which, under an English aspect and dress, are yet so manifestly 
the product of other skies. They affect us like translations; the very fauna and 
flora are alien, remote; the dog's-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe 
primrose, nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as sweetly in April as 
the English thrush." The Athenaeum. 

*T?UY my English posies I 

Kent and Surrey may — 
Violets of the Under cliff 

Wet with Channel spray; 
Cowslips from a Devon combe — 

Midland furze afire — 
Buy my English posies 

And Til sell your heart's desire I 

Buy my English posies! 

You that scorn the May, 
Won't you greet a friend from home 

Half the world away? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 217 

Green against the draggled drift, 

Faint and frail and first — 
Buy my Northern blood-root 

And I'll know where you were nursed! 
Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me!" 
Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free. 
All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain. 
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! 

Buy my English posies! 

Here's to match your need — 
Buy a tuft of royal heath, 

Buy a bunch of weed 
White as sand of Muisenberg 

Spun before the gale — 
Buy my heath and lilies 

And I'll tell you whence you hail! 
Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lie — 
Throned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless 

sky — 
Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wain — 
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! 

Buy my English posies! 

You that will not turn — 
Buy my hot-wood clematis, 

Buy a frond o' fern 
Gathered where the Erskine leaps 

Down the road to Lome — 
Buy my Christmas creeper 

And I'll say where you were born! 
West away from Melbourne dust holidays begin — 
They that mock at Paradise woo at Cora Lynn — 
Through the great South Otway gums sings the great South 

Main- 
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! 



2i 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Buy my English posies! 

Here's your choice unsold! 
Buy a blood-red myrtle-bloom, 

Buy the kowhai's gold 
Flung for gift on Taupo's face, 

Sign that spring is come — 
Buy my clinging myrtle 

And I'll give you back your home! 
Broom behind the windy town, pollen of the pine — 
Bell-bird in the leafy deep where the rat as twine — 
Fern above the saddle-bow, flax upon the plain — 
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again 

Buy my English posies! 

Ye that have your own 
Buy them for a brother's sake 

Overseas, alone! 
Weed ye trample underfoot 
Floods his heart abrim — 
Bird ye never heeded, 
Oh, she calls his dead to him! 
Far and far our homes are set round the Seven Seas; 
Woe for us if we forget, we who hold by these! 
Unto each his mother-beach, bloom and bird and land — 
Masters of the Seven Seas, oh, love and understand! 



THE NATIVE-BORN 

1894 

VVTE'VE drunk to the Queen — God bless her!- 

We've drunk to our mothers' land; 
We've drunk to our English brother, 
(But he does not understand); 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 219 

We've drunk to the wide creation, 

And the Cross swings low for the morn, 

Last toast, and of Obligation, 
A health to the Native-born! 



They change their skies above them, 

But not their hearts that roam! 
We learned from our wistful mothers 

To call old England "home"; 
We read of the English sky-lark, 

Of the spring in the English lanes, 
But we screamed with the painted lories 

As we rode on the dusty plains! 

They passed with their old-world legends — 

Their tales of wrong and dearth — 
Our fathers held by purchase, 

But we by the right of birth; 
Our heart's where they rocked our cradle, 

Our love where we spent our toil, 
And our faith and our hope and our honour 

We pledge to our native soil! 

I charge you charge your glasses — 

I charge you drink with me 
To the men of the Four New Nations, 

And the Islands of the Sea — 
To the last least lump of coral 

That none may stand outside, 
And our own good pride shall teach us 

To praise our comrade's pride. 

To the hush of the breathless morning 
On the thin, tin, crackling roofs, 

To the haze of the burned back-ranges 
And the dust of the shoeless hoofs — 



220 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To the risk of a death by drowning, 
To the risk of a death by drouth — 

To the men of a million acres, 
To the Sons of the Golden South! 



To the Sons of the Golden South {Stand up !), 

And the life we live and know, 
Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about. 
If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about 

With the weight of a single blow ! 

To the smoke of a hundred coasters, 

To the sheep on a thousand hills, 
To the sun that never blisters, 

To the rain that never chills — 
To the land of the waiting springtime, 

To our five-meal, meat-fed men, 
To the tall, deep-bosomed women, 

And the children nine and ten! 



And the children nine and ten {Stand up /), 

And the life we live and know, 
Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about, 
If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about, 

With the weight of a two-fold blow I 



To the far-flung, fenceless prairie 

Where the quick cloud-shadows trail, 
To our neighbour's barn in the offing 

And the line of the new-cut rail; 
To the plough in her league-long furrow 

With the grey Lake gulls behind — 
To the weight of a half-year's winter 

And the warm wet western wind! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 221 

To the home of the floods and thunder, 

To her pale dry healing blue — 
To the lift of the great Cape combers, 

And the smell of the baked Karroo. 
To the growl of the sluicing stamp-head — 

To the reef and the water-gold, 
To the last and the largest Empire, 

To the map that is half unrolled! 

To our dear dark foster-mothers, 

To the heathen songs they sung — 
To the heathen speech we babbled 

Ere we came to the white man's tongue. 
To the cool of our deep verandas — 

To the blaze of our jewelled main, 
To the night, to the palms in the moonlight, 

And the fire-fly in the cane! * 



To the hearth of Our People's People- 
To her well-ploughed windy sea, 
To the hush of our dread high-altar 
Where The Abbey makes us We. 
To the grist of the slow-ground ages, 

To the gain that is yours and mine- 
To the Bank of the Open Credit, 
To the Power-house of the Line! 



We've drunk to the Queen — God bless her! 

We've drunk to our mothers' land; 
We've drunk to our English brother 

(And we hope he'll understand). 
We've drunk as much as we're able, 

And the Cross swings low for the morn; 
Last toast — and your foot on the table! — 

A health to the Native-born! 



222 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

A health to the Native-born {Stand up /), 

Were six white men arow, 
All bound to sing o' the little things we care about, 
All bound to fight for the little things we care about 

With the weight of a six-fold blow ! 
By the might of our cable-tow {Take hands /), 

From the Orkneys to the Horn 
All round the world {and a little loop to pull it by), 
All round the world {and a little strap to buckle it), 
A health to the Native-born ! 



THE LOST LEGION 

1895 

PHERE'S a Legion that never was 'listed, 

That carries no colours or crest. 
But, split in a thousand detachments, 

Is breaking the road for the rest. 
Our fathers they left us their blessing — 

They taught us, and groomed us, and crammed; 
But we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes 
To go and find out and be damned 

(Dear boys!), 
To go and get shot and be damned. 

So some of us chivvy the slaver, 

And some of us cherish the black, 
And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast, 

And some on the Wallaby track: 
And some of us drift to Sarawak, 

And some of us drift up The Fly, 
And some share our tucker with tigers, 

And some with the gentle Masai, 

(Dear boys!), 

Take tea with the giddy Masai. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

WeVe painted The Islands vermilion, 

We've pearled on half-shares in the Bay, 
We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets, 

WeVe starved on a Seedeeboy's pay; 
We've laughed at the world as we found it,- 

Its women and cities and men — 
^rom Sayyid Burgash in a tantrum 

To the smoke-reddened eyes of Loben, 

(Dear boys!), 

WeVe a little account with Loben. 



The ends of the Earth were our portion, 

The ocean at large was our share. 
There was never a skirmish to windward 

But the Leaderless Legion was there: 
Yes, somehow and somewhere and always 

W 7 e were first when the trouble began, 
From a lottery-row in Manila, 

To an I.D.B. race on the Pan 

(Dear boys!), 

With the Mounted Police on the Pan. 



We preach in advance of the Army, 

We skirmish ahead of the Church, 
With never a gunboat to help us 

When we're scuppered and left in the lurch. 
But we know as the cartridges finish, 

And we're filed on our last little shelves, 
That the Legion that never was 'listed 

Will send us as good as ourselves 

(Good men!), 

Five hundred as good as ourselves! 



224 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then a health (we must drink it in whispers). 

To our wholly unauthorized horde — 
To the line of our dusty foreloopers, 
The Gentlemen Rovers abroad — 
Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter, 

For the steamer won't wait for the train, 
And the Legion that never was 'listed 
Goes back into quarters again 

'Regards! 
Goes back under canvas again. 

Hurrah! 
The swag and the billy again. 

Here's how! 
The trail and the packhorse again. 

Salue! 
The trek and the lager again ! 



THE IRISH GUARDS 



A\^E'RE not so old in the Army List, 

But we're not so young at our trade, 
For we had the honour at Fontenoy 

Of meeting the Guards' Brigade. 
'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare, 

And Lee that led us then, 
And after a hundred and seventy years 
We're fighting for France again! 

Old Days I The wild geese are flighting, 

Head to the storm as they faced it before I 
For where there are Irish there 's bound to be fighting, 
And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more ! 

Ireland no more ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 225 

The fashion's all for khaki now, 

But once through France we went 
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth, 

The English — left at Ghent. 
They're fighting on our side to-day 

But, before they changed their clothes, 
The half of Europe knew our fame, 
As all of Ireland knows! 

Old Days ! The wild geese are flying, 

Head to the storm as they faced it before ! 
For where there are Irish there's memory undying. 
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more ! 

Ireland no more ! 



From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt, 

From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge, 
The ancient days come back no more 

Than water under the bridge. 
But the bridge it stands and the water runs 

As red as yesterday, 
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns 
Like salmon to the sea. 

Old Days ! The wild geese are ranging, 

Head to the storm as they faced it before ! 
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging, 
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more ! 

Ireland no more ! 



We're not so old in the Army List, 
But we're not so new in the ring, 

For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe 
When Louis was our King. 

But Douglas Haig's our Marshal now 
And we're King George's men, 



226 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And after one hundred and seventy years 
We're fighting for France again! 

Ah, France ! And did we stand by you, 

When life was made splendid with gifts ayid rewards ? 
Ah, France ! And will we deny you 

In the hour of your agony. Mother of Swords? 
Old Days ! The wild geese are flighting, 

Head to the storm as they faced it before ! 
For where there are Irish there's loving and fighting, 
And when we stop either, it's Ireland no more ! 

Ireland no more ! 



PHARAOH AND THE SERGEANT 

i 897 

". . . Consider that the meritorious services of the Sergeant Instructors 
attached to the Egyptian Army have been inadequately acknowledged. . . . 
To the excellence of their work is mainly due the great improvement that has 
taken place in the soldiers of H.H. the Khedive. " 

Extract from Letter. 

QAID England unto Pharaoh, "I must make a man of you, 

That will stand upon his feet and play the game; 
That will Maxim his oppressor as a Christian ought to do," 
And she sent old Pharaoh Sergeant Whatisname. 
It was not a Duke nor Earl, nor yet a ^/Vcount — 

It was not a big brass General that came; 
But a man in khaki kit who could handle men a bit, 
With his bedding labelled Sergeant Whatisname. 

Said England unto Pharaoh, "Though at present singing 
small, 

You shall hum a proper tune before it ends," 
And she introduced old Pharaoh to the Sergeant once for all, 

And left 'em in the desert making friends. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 227 

It was not a Crystal Palace nor Cathedral; 

It was not a public-house of common fame; 
But a piece of red-hot sand, with a palm on either hand, 

And a little hut for Sergeant Whatisname. 



Said England unto Pharaoh, "You've had miracles before, 

When Aaron struck your rivers into blood; 
But if you watch the Sergeant he can show you something 
more. 
He's a charm for making riflemen from mud." 
It was neither Hindustani, French, nor Coptics,- 

It was odds and ends and leavings of the same, 

Translated by a stick (which is really half the trick), 

And Pharaoh harked to Sergeant Whatisname. 

(There were years that no one talked of; there were times of 
horrid doubt — 
There was faith and hope and whacking and despair — 
While the Sergeant gave the Cautions and he combed old 
Pharaoh out, 
And England didn't seem to know nor care. 

That is England's awful way o' doing business — 

She would serve her God (or Gordon) just the same — 
For she thinks her Empire still is the Strand and Hol- 
born Hill, 
And she didn't think of Sergeant Whatisname.) 



Said England to the Sergeant, ''You can let my people go!" 

(England used 'em cheap and nasty from the start), 
And they entered 'em in battle on a most astonished foe— 
But the Sergeant he had hardened Pharaoh's heart 
Which was broke, along of all the plagues of Egypt, 
Three thousand years before the Sergeant came— 
And he mended it again in a little more than ten, 
Till Pharaoh fought like Sergeant Whatisname. 



228 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It was wicked bad campaigning (cheap and nasty from the 
first), 
There was heat and dust and coolie-work and sun, 
There were vipers, flies, and sandstorms, there was cholera 
and thirst, 
But Pharaoh done the best he ever done. 

Down the desert, down the railway, down the river 5 

Like Israelites from bondage so he came, 
'Tween the clouds o' dust and fire to the land of his 
desire, 
And his Moses, it was Sergeant Whatisname! 

We are eating dirt in handfuls for to save our daily bread, 

Which we have to buy from those that hate us most, 
And we must not raise the money where the Sergeant raised 
the dead, 
And it's wrong and bad and dangerous to boast. 
But he did it on the cheap and on the quiet, 
And he's not allowed to forward any claim — 
Though he drilled a black man white, though he made a 
mummy fight, 
He will still continue Sergeant Whatisname — 
Private, Corporal, Colour-Sergeant, and Instructor — 
But the everlasting miracle's the same! 



THE LAST OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

i 8 9 i 

^PHERE were thirty million English who talked of Eng- 
land's might, 

There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the 
night. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 229 

They had neither food nor money, they had neither service 

nor trade; 
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade. 

They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was 
long, 

That though they were dying of famine, they lived in death- 
less song. 

They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door; 

And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four! 



They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined 

and gray; 
Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than 

they; 
And an old troop sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man 

who writes 
The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites. v 

They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file 

strong, 
To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in 

his song; 
And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they 

stayed, 
A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade. 

They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil- 
bowed back; 

They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell 
slack; 

With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and 
frayed, 

They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Bri- 
gade. 



2 3 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The old troop sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your 

pardon," he said, 
"You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't 

dead. 
An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth 

of hell; 
Kor we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an' we thought we'd 

call an' tell. 



"No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you 

take an' write 
A sort of ' to be continued ' and * see next page ' o' the fight ? 
We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 

'em how? 
You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are 

starving now." 



The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn. 
And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with " the scorn 

of scorn." 
And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land 

like flame, 
Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the 

thing called Shame. 



O thirty million English that babble of England's might, 
Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night; 
Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they 

made — " 
And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of 

the Light Brigade! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 251 

KITCHENER'S SCHOOL 

1898 

Being a translation of the song that was made by a Mohammedan school- 
master of Bengal Infantry {some time on service at Suakim) when he heard that 
Kitchener was taking money from the English to build a Madrissa for Hub- 
shees — or a college for the Sudanese. 

OH HUBSHEE, carry your shoes in your hand and bow 

your head on your breast! 
This is the message of Kitchener who did not break you in 

jest. 
It was permitted to him to fulfil the long-appointed years; 
Reaching the end ordained of old over your dead Emirs. 

He stamped only before your walls, and the Tomb ye knew 

was dust: 
He gathered up under his armpits all the swords of your 

trust: 
He set a guard on your granaries, securing the weak from 

the strong: 
He said: — "Go work the waterwheels that were abolished so 

long." 

He said: — "Go safely, being abased. I have accomplished 

my vow." 
That was the mercy of Kitchener. Cometh his madness now! 
He does not desire as ye desire, nor devise as ye devise: 
He is preparing a second host — an army to make you wise. 

Not at the mouth of his clean-lipped guns shall ye learn his 

name again, 
But letter by letter, from Kaf to Kaf, at the mouths of his 

chosen men. 



232 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He has gone back to his own city, not seeking presents or 

bribes, 
But openly asking the English for money to buy you Hakims 

and scribes. 

Knowing that ye are forfeit by battle and have no right to 
live, 

He begs for money to bring you learning — and all the Eng- 
lish give. 

It is their treasure — it is their pleasure^-thus are their 
hearts inclined: 

For Allah created the English mad — the maddest of all 
mankind! 



They do not consider the Meaning of Things; they consult not 

creed nor clan. 
Behold, they clap the slave on the back, and behold, he ariseth 

a man! 
They terribly carpet the earth with dead, and before their 

cannon cool, 
They walk unarmed by twos and threes to call the living to 

school. 

How is this reason (which is their reason) to judge a scholar's 

worth, 
By casting a ball at three straight sticks and defending the 

same with a fourth? 
But this they do (which is doubtless a spell) and other matters 

more strange, 
Until, by the operation of years, the hearts of their scholars 

change: 

Till these make come and go great boats or engines upon the 

rail 
(But always the English watch near by to prop them when 

they fail) ; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 233 

Till these make laws of their own choice and Judges of their 

own blood; 
And all the mad English obey the Judges and say that that 

Law is good. 

Certainly they were mad from of old; but I think one new 

thing, 
That the magic whereby they work their magic — wherefrom 

their fortunes spring — 
May be that they show all peoples their magic and ask no 

price in return. 
Wherefore, since ye are bond to that magic, O Hubshee, make 

haste and learn! 

Certainly also is Kitchener mad. But one sure thing I 

know — 
If he who broke you be minded to teach you, to his Madrissa 

go! 
Go, and carry your shoes in your hand and bow your head 

on your breast, 
For he who did not slay you in sport, he will not teach you 

in jest. 



LORD ROBERTS 

1 9 1 4 

J-JE passed in the very battle-smoke 
Of the war that he had descried. 
Three hundred mile of cannon spoke 
When the Master-Gunner died. 

He passed to the very sound of the guns; 

But, before his eye grew dim, 
He had seen the faces of the sons 

Whose sires had served with him. 



234 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He had touched their sword-hilts and greeted each 

With the old sure word of praise; 
And there was virtue in touch and speech 

As it had been in old days. 

So he dismissed them and took his rest. 
And the steadfast spirit went forth 

Between the adoring East and West 
And the tireless guns of the North. 

Clean, simple, valiant, well-beloved, 

Flawless in faith and fame, 
Whom neither ease nor honours moved 

An hair's-breadth from his aim. 

Never again the war-wise face, 

The weighed and urgent word 
That pleaded in the market-place — 

Pleaded and was not heard! 

Yet from his life a new life springs 

Through all the hosts to come, 
And Glory is the least of things 

That follow this man home. 



BRIDGE-GUARD IN THE KARROO 

i 9 o i 

' . . . and will supply details to guard the Blood River Bridge . ' ' 
District Orders — Lines of Communication. South African War. 

CUDDEN the desert changes, 

The raw glare softens and clings, 
Till the aching Oudtshoorn ranges 
Stand up like the thrones of Kings — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 23 

Ramparts of slaughter and peril — 

Blazing, amazing, aglow — 
'Twixt the sky-line's belting beryl 

And the wine-dark flats below. 



Royal the pageant closes, 

Lit by the last of the sun — 
Opal and ash-of-roses, 

Cinnamon, umber, and dun. 

The twilight swallows the thicket, 
The starlight reveals the ridge. 

The whistle shrills to the picket — 
We are changing guard on the bridge. 

(Few, forgotten and lonely, 
Where the empty metals shine — 

No, not combatants — only 
Details guarding the line.) 

We slip through the broken panel 
Of fence by the ganger's shed; 

We drop to the waterless channel 
And the lean track overhead; 

We stumble on refuse of rations, 
The beef and the biscuit- tins; 

We take our appointed stations, 
And the endless night begins. 

We hear the Hottentot herders 

As the sheep click past to the fold — 

And the click of the restless girders 
As the steel contracts in the cold — 



236 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Voices of jackals calling 

And, loud in the hush between, 

A morsel of dry earth falling 

From the flanks of the scarred ravine. 



And the solemn firmament marches, 
And the hosts of heaven rise 

Framed through the iron arches — 
Banded and barred by the ties, 

Till we feel the far track humming, 
And we see her headlight plain, 

And we gather and wait her coming- 
The wonderful north-bound train. 



(Few, forgotten and lonely, 

Where the white car-windows shine- 
No, not combatants — only 

Details guarding the line.) 

Quick, ere the gift escape us! 

Out of the darkness we reach 
For a handful of week-old papers 

And a mouthful of human speech. 

And the monstrous heaven rejoices, 
And the earth allows again, 

Meetings, greetings, and voices 
Of women talking with men. 

So we return to our places, 
As out on the bridge she rolls; 

And the darkness covers our faces, 
And the darkness re-enters our souls. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 237 

More than a little lonely 

Where the lessening tail-lights shine. 

No — not combatants — only- 
Details guarding the line! 



SOUTH AFRICA 

1 903 

[ IVED a woman wonderful, 

(May the Lord amend her!) 
Neither simple, kind, nor true, 
But her Pagan beauty drew 
Christian gentlemen a few 
Hotly to attend her. 

Christian gentlemen a few 
From Berwick unto Dover; 

For she was South Africa, 

And she was South Africa, 

She was Our South Africa, 
Africa all over I 

Half her land was dead with drouth, 

Half was red with battle; 
She was fenced with fire and sword 
Plague on pestilence outpoured, 
Locusts on the greening sward 
And murrain on the cattle! 

True, ah true, and overtrue. 

That is why we love her I 
For she is South Africa, 
And she is South Africa, 
She is Our South Africa^ 

Africa all over ! 



23 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Bitter hard her lovers toiled, 
Scandalous their payment, — 

Food forgot on trains derailed; 

Cattle-dung where fuel failed; 

Water where the mules had staled; 
And sackcloth for their raiment! 



So she filled their mouths with dust 
And their bones with fever; 

Greeted them with cruel lies; 

Treated them despiteful-wise; 

Meted them calamities 

Till they vowed to leave her! 

They took ship and they took sail, 

Raging, from her borders — 
In a little, none the less, 
They forgat their sore duresse, 
They forgave her waywardness 
And returned for orders! 



They esteemed her favour more 
Than a Throne's foundation. 
For the glory of her face 
Bade farewell to breed and race- 
Yea, and made their burial-place 
Altar of a Nation! 



Wherefore, being bought by blood. 

And by blood restored 
To the arms that nearly lost, 
She, because of all she cost, 
Stands, a very woman, most 

Perfect and adored! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 239 

On your feet, and let them know 

This is why we love her I 
For she is South Africa, 
She is Our South Africa, 
Is Our Own South Africa, 

Africa all over I 



THE BURIAL 

1902 

(C. J. Rhodes, buried in the Matoppos, April 10, 1902) 

A^HEN that great Kings return to clay, 

Or Emperors in their pride, 
Grief of a day shall fill a day, 

Because its creature died. 
But we — we reckon not with those 

Whom the mere Fates ordain, 
This Power that wrought on us and goes 

Back to the Power again. 

Dreamer devout, by vision led 
Beyond our guess or reach, 

The travail of his spirit bred 
Cities in place of speech. 

So huge the all-mastering thought that drove- 
So brief the term allowed — 

Nations, not words, he linked to prove 
His faith before the crowd. 

It is his will that he look forth 

Across the world he won — 
The granite of the ancient North — ■ 

Great spaces washed with sun. 



2 4 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There shall he patient take his seat 
(As when the Death he dared), 

And there await a people's feet 
In the paths that he prepared. 



There, till the vision he foresaw 

Splendid and whole arise, 
And unimagined Empires draw 

To council 'neath his skies, 
The immense and brooding Spirit still 

Shall quicken and control. 
Living he was the land, and dead, 

His soul shall be her soul! 



THINGS AND THE MAN 

(in memoriam, Joseph chamberlain) 

1904 

And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it his brethren and they hated 
him yet the more." — Genesis xxxvii. 5. 

(~)H YE who hold the written clue 

To all save all unwritten things, 
And, half a league behind, pursue 

The accomplished Fact with flouts and flings. 
Look! To your knee your baby brings 

The oldest tale since Earth began — 
The answer to your worryings: 
"Once on a time there was a Man" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 241 

He, single-handed, met and slew 

Magicians, Armies, Ogres, Kings. 
He lonely 'mid his doubting crew — 
"In all the loneliness of wings" — 
He fed the flame, he filled the springs, 

He locked the ranks, he launched the van 
Straight at the grinning Teeth of Things. 
11 Once on a ti?ne there was a Man." 



The peace of shocked Foundations flew 

Before his ribald questionings. 
He broke the Oracles in two, 

And bared the paltry wires and strings. 
He headed desert wanderings; 

He led his soul, his cause, his clan 
A little from the ruck of Things. 
"Once on a ti?ne there was a Man" 



Thrones, Powers, Dominions block the view 

With episodes and underlings — 
The meek historian deems them true 
Nor heeds the song that Clio sings — 
The simple central truth that stings 

The mob to boo, the priest to ban; 
Things never yet created things — 
"Once on a time there was a Man" 



A bolt is fallen from the blue. 

A wakened realm full circle swings 
Where Dothan's dreamer dreams anew 
Of vast and farborne harvestings; 
And unto him an Empire clings 

That grips the purpose of his plan. 
My Lords, how think you of these things I 
Once — in our time — is there a Man ? 



242 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE SETTLER 

i 903 

{South African War ended \ May, 1902) 

UERE, where my fresh- turned furrows run, 

And the deep soil glistens red, 
I will repair the wrong that was done 

To the living and the dead. 
Here, where the senseless bullet fell, 

And the barren shrapnel burst, 
I will plant a tree, I will dig a well, 

Against the heat and the thirst. 



Here, in a large and a sunlit land, 

Where no wrong bites to the bone, 
I will lay my hand in my neighbour's hand, 

And together we will atone 
For the set folly and the red breach 

And the black waste of it all; 
Giving and taking counsel each 

Over the cattle-kraal. 



Here will we join against our foes — 

The hailstroke and the storm, 
And the red and rustling cloud that blows 

The locust's mile-deep swarm. 
Frost and murrain and floods let loose 

Shall launch us side by side 
In the holy wars that have no truce 

'Twixt seed and harvest-tide. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 243 

Earth, where we rode to slay or be slain, 

Our love shall redeem unto life. 
We will gather and lead to her lips again 

The waters of ancient strife, 
From the far and fiercely guarded streams 

And the pools where we lay in wait, 
Till the corn cover our evil dreams 

And the young corn our hate. 



And when we bring old fights to mind, 

We will not remember the sin — 
If there be blood on his head of my kind, 

Or blood on my head of his kin — 
For the ungrazed upland, the unfilled lea 

Cry, and the fields forlorn: 
"The dead must bury their dead, but ye — 

Ye serve an host unborn." 



Bless then, Our God, the new-yoked plough 

And the good beasts that draw, 
And the bread we eat in the sweat of our brow 

According to Thy Law. 
After us cometh a multitude — 

Prosper the work of our hands, 
That we may feed with our land's food 

The folk of all our lands ! 



Here, in the waves and the troughs of the plains, 

Where the healing stillness lies, 
And the vast, benignant sky restrains 

And the long days make wise — 
Bless to our use the rain and the sun 

And the blind seed in its bed, 
That we may repair the wrong that was done 

To the living and the dead! 



244 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

SUSSEX 
1902 

(~JOD gave all men all earth to love, 

But since our hearts are small, 
Ordained for each one spot should prove 

Beloved over all; 
That, as He watched Creation's birth, 

So we, in godlike mood, 
May of our love create our earth 

And see that it is good. 

So one shall Baltic pines content, 

As one some Surrey glade, 
Or one the palm-grove's droned lament 

Before Levuka's Trade. 
Each to his choice, and I rejoice 

The lot has fallen to me 
In a fair ground — in a fair ground — 

Yea, Sussex by the sea! 

No tender-hearted garden crowns, 

No bosomed woods adorn 
Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs, 

But gnarled and writhen thorn — 
Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim, 

And, through the gaps revealed, 
Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim, 

Blue goodness of the Weald. 

Clean of officious fence or hedge, 

Half-wild and wholly tame, 
The wise turf cloaks the white cliff edge 

As when the Romans came. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 245 

What sign of those that fought and died 

At shift of sword and sword ? 
The barrow and the camp abide, 

The sunlight and the sward. 

Here leaps ashore the full Sou'west 

All heavy-winged with brine, 
Here lies above the folded crest 

The Channel's leaden line; 
And here the sea-fogs lap and cling, 

And here, each warning each, 
The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring 

Along the hidden beach. 

We have no waters to delight 

Our broad and brookless vales — 
Only the dewpond on the height 

Unfed, that never fails — 
Whereby no tattered herbage tells 

Which way the season flies — 
Only our close-bit thyme that smells 

Like dawn in Paradise. 

Here through the strong and shadeless days 

The tinkling silence thrills; 
Or little, lost, Down churches praise 

The Lord who made the hills: 
But here the Old Gods guard their round, 

And, in her secret heart, 
The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found 

Dreams, as she dwells, aparto 

Though all the rest were all my share, 

With equal soul I'd see 
Her nine-and-thirty sisters fair, 

Yet none more fair than she. 



246 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Choose ye your need from Thames to Tweed, 

And I will choose instead 
Such lands as lie 'twixt Rake and Rye, 

Black Down and Beachy Head*, 

I will go out against the sun 

Where the rolled scarp retires, 
And the Long Man of Wilmington 

Looks naked toward the shires; 
And east till doubling Rother crawls 

To find the fickle tide, 
By dry and sea-forgotten walls, 

Our ports of stranded pride. 

I will go north about the shaws 

And the deep ghylls that breed 
Huge oaks and old, the which we hold 

No more than Sussex weed; 
Or south where windy Piddinghoe's 

Begilded dolphin veers 
And red beside wide-banked Ouse 

Lie down our Sussex steers. 

So to the land our heartc we give 

Till the sure magic strike, 
And Memory, Use, and Love make live 

Us and our fields alike — 
That deeper than our speech and thought, 

Beyond our reason's sway, 
Clay of the pit whence we were wrought 

Yearns to its fellow-clay. 

God gives all men all earth to love. 
But since man's heart is small \ 

Ordains for each one spot shall prove 
Beloved over alL 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 247 

Each to his choice ', and I rejoice 

The lot has fallen to me 
In a fair ground — in a fair ground — 

Yea, Sussex by the sea! 



MY BOY JACK 

1 9 1 4 - 1 8 

t-JAVE you news of my boy Jack?" 

Not this tide. 
"When d'you think that he'll come back?' 
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. 

"Has any one else had word of him?" 

Not this tide. 
For what is sunk will hardly swim, 

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. 



"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?" 

None this tide, 

Nor any tide, 
Except he did not shame his kind — 

Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide* 

Then hold your head up all the more, 

This tide, 

And every tide; 
Because he was the son you bore, 

And gave to that wind blowing and that tide ! 



H8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

A NATIVITY 

i 9 i 4 - i 8 

r jTHE Babe was laid in the Manger 

Between the gentle kine — 
All safe from cold and danger — 
"But it was not so with mine, 

(With mine! With mine!) 
"Is it well with the child, is it well?" 

The waiting mother prayed. 
"For I know not how he fell, 

And I know not where he is laid." 



A Star stood forth in Heaven; 

The Watchers ran to see 
The Sign of the Promise given — 

"But there comes no sign to me. 

(To me! To me!) 
"My child died in the dark. 

Is it well with the child, is it well? 
There was none to tend him or mark, 

And I know not how he fell." 



The Cross was raised on high; 

The Mother grieved beside — 
"But the Mother saw Him die 

And took Him when He died. 

(He died! He died!) 
"Seemly and undefiled 

His burial-place was made — 
Is it well, is it well with the child? 

For I know not where he is laid." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 249 

On the dawning of Easter Day 

Comes Mary Magdalene; 
But the Stone was rolled away y 

And the Body was not within — 

(Within! Within!) 
"Ah, who will answer my word? 

The broken mother prayed. 
"They have taken away my Lord, 

And I know not where He is laid." 



" The Star stands forth in Heaven. 

The watchers watch in vain 
For Sign of the Promise given 

Of peace on Earth again — 

(Again! Again!) 
"But I know for Whom he fell"— 

The steadfast mother smiled, 
"Is it well with the child — is it well? 

It is well — it is well with the child! 



DIRGE OF DEAD SISTERS 

1902 

{For the Nurses who died in the South African War) 

\\/ r HO recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order 

(Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air?) 

And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter, 

And the faces of the Sisters with the dust upon their hair? 

(Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils, 
Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by — 

Let us now remember many honourable women, 

Such as bade us turn again when we were like to die.) 



250 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Who recalls the morning and the thunder through the foot- 
hills 
(Tufts of fleecy shrapnel strung along the empty plains?) 
And the sun-scarred Red-Cross coaches creeping guarded to 
the culvert, 
And the faces of the Sisters looking gravely from the trains ? 

(When the days were torment and the nights were clouded 

terror, 

When the Powers of Darkness had dominion on our soul — 

When we fled consuming through the Seven Hells of Fever, 

These put out their hands to us and healed and made us 

whole.) 

W 7 ho recalls the midnight by the bridge's wrecked abutment 
(Autumn rain that rattled like a Maxim on the tin?) 

And the lightning-dazzled levels and the streaming, straining 
wagons. 
And the faces of the Sisters as they bore the wounded in ? 

(Till the pain was merciful and stunned us into silence — 
When each nerve cried out on God that made the misused 
clay; 
When the Body triumphed and the last poor shame de- 
parted — 
These abode our agonies and wiped the sweat away.) 

Who recalls the noontide and the funerals through the market 
(Blanket-hidden bodies, flagless, followed by the flies?) 

And the footsore firing-party, and the dust and stench and 
staleness, 
And the faces of the Sisters and the glory in their eyes ? 

(Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-h allowed, 
Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking town, 

These endured unresting till they rested from their labours — 
Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 251 

Yet their graves are scattered and their names are clean for- 
gotten, 

Earth shall not remember, but the Waiting Angel knows 
Them that died at Uitvlugt when the plague was on the city — 

Her that fell at Simon's Town in service on our foes. 



Wherefore we they ransomed, while the breath is in our nostrils, 
Now and not hereafter — ere the meaner years go by — 

Praise with love and worship many honourable women, 
Those that gave their lives for us when we were like to die ! 



THE VAMPIRE 

1 897 

A FOOL there was and he made his prayer 

(Even as you and I!) 
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair 
(We called her the woman who did not care) 
But the fool he called her his lady fair — 
(Even as you and I !) 

Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste 
And the work of our head and hand 
Belong to the woman who did not know 
{And now we know that she never could know) 
And did not understand I 

A fool there was and his goods he spent 

(Even as you and I !) 

Honour and faith and a sure intent 

(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant) 

But a fool must follow his natural bent 

(Even as you and I !) 



25 2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost 
And the excellent things we planned 
Belong to the woman who didn't know why 
{And now we know that she never knew why) 
And did not understand ! 

The fool was stripped to his foolish hide 

(Even as you and I !) 

Which she might have seen when she threw him aside- 

(But it isn't on record the lady tried) 

So some of him lived but the most of him died — 

(Even as you and I !) 

"And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame 
That stings like a white hot brand — 
It's coming to know that she never knew why 
{Seeing, at last, she could never know why) 
And never could understand !" 



THE ENGLISH FLAG 

i 8 9 i 

Above the portico a flag-staff bearing the Union Jack, remained fluttering in 
the flames for some time, but ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with 
shouts, and seemed to see significance in the incident. 

Daily Papers. 

VVHNDS of the World, give answer! They are whim- 
pering to and fro — 

And what should they know of England who only England 
know ? — 

The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and 
brag, 

They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the 
English Flag! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 253 

Must we borrow a clout from the Boer — to plaster anew with 

dirt? 
An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward'6 shirt? 
We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share. 
What is the Flag of England ? Winds of the World, declare ! 

The North Wind blew: — "From Bergen my steel-shod van- 
guards go; 

"I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe. 

" By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God, 

"And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with 
cod. 

"I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with 

flame, 
"Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came. 
"I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with 

my blast, 
"And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the 

spirit passed. 

"The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic 

nights, 
"The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern 

Lights: 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to 

dare, 
"Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is 

there!" 

< 
The South Wind sighed: — "From the Virgins my mid-sea 

course was ta'en 
"Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, 
"Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed 

breakers croon 
"Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon. 



254 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, 

"I waked the palms to laughter — I tossed the scud in the 

breeze. 
"Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, 
"But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was 

flown. 

"I have wrenched it free from the halliards to hang for a 

wisp on the Horn; 
"I have chased it north to the Lizard — ribboned and rolled 

and torn; 
"I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless 

sea; 
"I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set 

free. 

" My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, 
"Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern 

Cross. 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to 

dare, 
"Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!" 

The East Wind roared: — "From the Kuriles, the Bitter 

Seas, I come, 
"And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English 

home. 
"Look — look well to your shipping! By breath of my mad 

typhoon 
"I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at 

Kowloon ! 

"The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before, 
"I raped your richest roadstead — I plundered Singapore! 
"I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose; 
"And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the 
startled crows. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 255 

"Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake, 
"But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for Eng- 
land's sake — 
"Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid — 
"Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is 
stayed. 



"The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows, 
"The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless 

snows. 
"What is the Flag of England ? Ye have but my sun to dare, 
"Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there !" 



The West Wind called: — "In squadrons the thoughtless 

galleons fly 
"That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die. 
"They make my might their porter, they make my house 

their path, 
"Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all 

in my wrath. 



"I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the 

hole, 
"They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll, 
"For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my 

breath, 
"And they see strange bows above them and the two go 

locked to death. 



"But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or 

day, 
"I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away, 
"First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, 
"Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by. 



256 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it — the frozen dews 

have kissed — 
"The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist. 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to 

dare, 
"Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is 

there!" 



THE DEAD KING 

(EDWARD VII.) 
I 9 I O 

TlfHO in the Reahn to-day lays down dear life for the sake of 
a land more dear ? 
And, unconcerned for his own estate, toils till the last 
grudged sands have run ? 

Let him approach. It is proven here 
Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King himself 
has done. 

For to him above all was Life good, above all he commanded 

Her abundance full-handed. 
The peculiar treasure of Kings was his for the taking: 
All that men come to in dreams he inherited waking: — 

His marvel of world-gathered armies — one heart and all 
races; 

His seas 'neath his keels when his war-castles foamed to their 
places; 

The thundering foreshores that answered his heralded land- 
ing; 

The huge lighted cities adoring, the assemblies upstanding; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 257 

The Councils of Kings called in haste to learn how he was 

minded — 
The Kingdoms, the Powers, and the Glories he dealt with 

unblinded. 

To him came all captains of men, all achievers of glory, 

Hot from the press of their battles they told him their story. 

They revealed him their lives in an hour and, saluting, de- 
parted, 

Joyful to labour afresh — he had made them new-hearted. 

And, since he weighed men from his youth, and no lie long 
deceived him, 

He spoke and exacted the truth, and the basest believed him. 

And God poured him an exquisite wine, that was daily re- 
newed to him, 

In the clear-welling love of his peoples that daily accrued to 
him. 

Honour and service we gave him, rejoicingly fearless; 

Faith absolute, trust beyond speech and a friendship as peer- 
less. 

And since he was Master and Servant in all that we asked 
him, 

We leaned hard on his wisdom in all things, knowing not how 
we tasked him. 

For on him each new day laid command, every tyrannous 
hour, 

To confront, or confirm, or make smooth some dread issue 
of power; 

To deliver true judgment aright at the instant, unaided, 

In the strict, level, ultimate phrase that allowed or dissuaded; 

To foresee, to allay, to avert from us perils unnumbered, 

To stand guard on our gates when he guessed that the watch- 
men had slumbered; 

To win time, to turn hate, to woo folly to service and, mightily 
schooling 

His strength to the use of his Nations, to rule as not ruling. 



258 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

These were the works of our King; Earth's peace was the 

proof of them. 
God gave him great works to fulfil, and to us the behoof of them . 
We accepted his toil as our right — none spared, none excused 

him. 
When he was bowed by his burden his rest was refused him. 
We troubled his age with our weakness — the blacker our 

shame to us! 
Hearing his People had need of him, straightway he came to 

us. 

As he received so he gave — nothing grudged, naught denying, 
Not even the last gasp of his breath when he strove for us, 

dying. 
For our sakes, without question, he put from him all that he 

cherished. 
Simply as any that serve him he served and he perished. 
All that Kings covet was his, and he flung it aside for us. 
Simply as any that die in his service he died for us! 

Who in the Reahn to-day has choice of the easy road or the hard 
to tread ? 
Andy much concerned for his own estate ; would sell his soul to 
remain in the sun ? 

Let him depart nor look on Our dead. 
Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King him- 
self has done. 



WHEN EARTH'S LAST PICTURE IS PAINTED 

1892 

VVTHEN Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are 

twisted and dried, 
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic 

has died, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 259 

We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it — lie down for an 

aeon or two, 
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work 

anew. 



And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a 

golden chair; 
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of 

comets' hair. 
They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, Peter, 

and Paul; 
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at 

all! 



And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master 

shall blame; 
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for 

fame, 
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate 

star, 
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as 

They are! 



"CLEARED" 

1890 

{In memory of the Parnell Commission) 

t-JELP for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, 

Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt 
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, Oh listen to my song, 
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong. 



26o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Their noble names were mentioned — Oh the burning black 

disgrace ! — 
By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; 
They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave 

it, 
And "coruscating innocence" the learned Judges gave it. 

Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the sur- 
geon's knife, 

The "honourable gentlemen" deplored the loss of life! 

Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and shirk and 
snigger, 

No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the trigger! 

Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies, 
Like phoenixes from Phoenix Park (and what lay there) they 

rise! 
Go shout it to the emerald seas — give word to Erin now, 
Her honourable gentlemen are cleared — and this is how: — 

They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price, 
They only helped the murderer with counsel's best advice, 
But — sure it keeps their honour white — the learned Court 

believes 
They never give a piece of plate to murderers and thieves. 

They never told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide, 
They never marked a man for death — what fault of theirs 

he died? — 
They only said "intimidate," and talked and went away — 
By God, the boys that did the work were braver men than 

they! 

Their sin it was that fed the fire — small blame to them that 

heard — 
The boys get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at a word — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 261 

They knew whom they were talking at, if they were Irish too, 
The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew, and well they 
knew! 



They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail, 
They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clan-na- 

Gael. 
If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's 

down, 
They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown. 



"Cleared," honourable gentlemen! Be thankful it's no 

more : — 
The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your 

door. 
On you the shame of open shame; on you from North to South 
The hand of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth. 



"Less black than we were painted"? — Faith, no word of 

black was said; 
The lightest touch was human blood, and that, you know, 

runs red. 
It's sticking to your fist to-day for all your sneer and scoff, 
And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off. 



Hold up those hands of innocence — go, scare your sheep 
together, 

The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell- 
wether; 

And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen, 

Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again! 



262 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"The charge is old" ? — As old as Cain — as fresh as yesterday; 
Old as the Ten Commandments — have ye talked those laws 

away? 
If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the 

ball, 
You spoke the words that sped the shot — the curse be on 

you all. 



"Our friends believe"? Of course they do — as sheltered 
women may; 

But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quiver- 
ing clay? 

They! — If their own front door is shut, they'll swear the whole 
world's warm; 

What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm ? 



The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the lane, 
The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken 

pane, 
The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees, 
And shows the boys have heard your talk — what do they 

know of these ? 



But you — you know — ay, ten times more; the secrets of 

the dead, 
Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred, 
The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped 

heifer's low. 
Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you 

know! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 263 

My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight, 
Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, lust, or 

hate 
Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered, 
While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared as you 

are cleared. 

Cleared — you that "lost" the League accounts — go, guard 

our honour still, 
Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's law 

at will — 
One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal "strike again"; 
The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your heart is 

clane. 

If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's 
down, 

You 're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown. 

If print is print or words are words, the learned Court per- 
pends: — 

We are not ruled by murderers, but only — by their friends. 



THE BALLAD OF THE RED EARL 

1 8 9 1 

(It is not for them to criticize too minutely the methods the Irish followed, 
though they might deplore some of their results. During the past few years 
Ireland had been going through what was tantamount to a revolution. — 
Earl Spencer) 

I) ED EARL, and will ye take for guide 

The silly camel-birds, 
That ye bury your head in an Irish thorn. 
On a desert of drifting words? 



264 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Ye have followed a man for a God, Red Earl, 
As the Lord o' Wrong and Right; 

But the day is done with the setting sun — 
Will ye follow into the night? 

He gave you your own old words, Red Earl, 

For food on the wastrel way; 
Will ye rise and eat in the night, Red Earl, 

That fed so full in the day? 

Ye have followed fast, ye have followed far, 
And where did the wandering lead? 

From the day that ye praised the spoken word 
To the day ye must gloss the deed. 

And as ye have given your hand for gain, 

So must ye give in loss; 
And as ye ha' come to the brink of the pit, 

So must ye loup across. 

For some be rogues in grain, Red Earl, 

And some be rogues in fact, 
And rogues direct and rogues elect; 

But all be rogues in pact. 

Ye have cast your lot with these, Red Earl; 

Take heed to where ye stand. 
Ye have tied a knot with your tongue, Red Earl, 

That ye cannot loose with your hand. 



Ye have travelled fast, ye have travelled far, 
In the grip of a tightening tether, 

Till ye find at the end ye must take for friend 
The quick and their dead together. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 265 

Ye have played with the Law between your lips, 

And mouthed it daintilee; 
But the gist o' the speech is ill to teach, 

For ye say: "Let wrong go free." 



Red Earl, ye wear the Garter fair, 
And gat your place from a King: 

Do ye make Rebellion of no account, 
And Treason a little thing? 



And have ye weighed your words, Red Earl, 

That stand and speak so high? 
And is it good that the guilt o' blood, 

Be cleared at the cost of a sigh? 



And is it well for the sake of peace, 
Our tattered Honour to sell, 

And higgle anew with a tainted crew- 
Red Earl, and is it well? 



Ye have followed fast, ye have followed far, 

On a dark and doubtful way, 
And the road is hard, is hard, Red Earl, 

And the price is yet to pay. 



Ye shall pay that price as ye reap reward 

For the toil of your tongue and pen — 
In the praise of the blamed and the thanks of the shamed, 

And the honour o' knavish men. 



266 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They scarce shall veil their scorn, Red Earl, 
And the worst at the last shall be, 

When you tell your heart that it does not know 
And your eye that it does not see. 



ULSTER 



i 9 I 2 

("Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover them- 
selves with their works: their works are works of iniquity and the act of 
violence is in their hands." — Isaiah lix. 6.) 

'TTIE dark eleventh hour 

Draws on and sees us sold 
To every evil power 
We fought against of old. 
Rebellion, rapine, hate, 
Oppression, wrong and greed 
Are loosed to rule our fate, 
By England's act and deed. 



The Faith in which we stand, 
The laws we made and guard, 
Our honour, lives, and land 
Are given for reward 
To Murder done by night, 
To Treason taught by day, 
To folly, sloth, and spite. 
And we are thrust away. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 267 

The blood our fathers spilt, 
Our love, our toils, our pains, 
Atq counted us for guilt, 
And only bind our chains. 
Before an Empire's eyes 
The traitor claims his price. 
What need of further lies? 
We are the sacrifice. 



We asked no more than leave 
To reap where we had sown, 
Through good and ill to cleave 
To our own flag and throne. 
Now England's shot and steel 
Beneath that flag must show 
How loyal hearts should kneel 
To England's oldest foe. 

We know the war prepared 
On every peaceful home, 
We know the hells declared 
For such as serve not Rome — 
The terror, threats, and dread 
In market, hearth, and field — 
We know, when all is said, 
We perish if we yield. 

Believe, we dare not boast, 
Believe, we do not fear — 
We stand to pay the cost 
In all that men hold dear. 
What answer from the North ? 
One Law, one Land, one Thron©. 
If England drive us forth 
We shall not fall alone! 



268 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 

1889 

C\H, EAST is East, and West is West, and never the twain 

shall meet, 
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment 

Seat; 
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor 

Birth, 
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from 

the ends of the earth I 

Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side, 
And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's 

pride. 
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and 

the day, 
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far 

away. 
Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the 

Guides: 
"Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal 

hides?" 
Then up and spoke Mohammed Khan, the son of the Res- 

saldar: 
"If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where 

his pickets are. 
"At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair, 
"But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare. 
"So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, 
"By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the 

Tongue of Jagai. 
"But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn 

ye then, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 269 

"For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown 

with Kamal's men. 
"There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean 

thorn between, 
"And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is 

seen." 
The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun 

was he, 
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head 

of a gallows-tree. 
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to 

eat — 
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his 

meat. 
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can 

Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue 

of Jagai, 
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her 

back, 
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the 

pistol crack. 
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball 

went wide. 
"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now if ye 

can ride!" 
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils 

The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren 

doe. 
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above, 
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden 

plays with a glove. 
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean 

thorn between, 
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was 

seen. 



27 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs 

drum up the dawn, 
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a 

new-roused fawn. 
The dun he fell at a water-course— in a woeful heap fell he, 
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the 

rider free. 
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand— small room was 

there to strive, 
" T was only by favour of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long 

alive : 
"There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump 

of tree, 
"But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on 

his knee. 
"If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low, 
"The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a 

row. . 

" If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high, 
"The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she 

could not fly." 
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and 

beast, 
"But count who come for the broken meats before thou 

TTiskpst 3. feast. 
" If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones 

away, . 

"Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief 

could pay. 
"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men 

on the garnered grain, 
"The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the 

cattle are slain. 
"But if thou thinkest the price be fair,— thy brethren wait 

to sup, 
"The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,— howl, dog, and call 

them up! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 271 

"And if" thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and 

stack, 
"Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way 

back!" 
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his 

feet. 
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and grey 

wolf meet. 
"May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath; 
"What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn 

with Death?" 
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the blood of 

my clan: 
"Take up the mare for my father's gift — by God, she has 

carried a man!" 
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled against 

his breast; 
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth 

the younger best. 
"So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded 

rein, 
"My 'broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups 

twain." 
The Colonel's son a pistol drew, and held it muzzle-end, 
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will ye take 

the mate from a friend?" 
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk 

of a limb. 
"Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!" 
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a 

mountain-crest — 
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a 

lance in rest. 
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of 

the Guides, 
"And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder 

rides. 



272 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed, 
"Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy head. 
"So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes 

are thine, 
"And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the 

Border-line. 
"And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to 

power — 
"Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in 

Peshawur." 

They have looked each other between the eyes, and there 

they found no fault, 
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on 

leavened bread and salt: 
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire 

and fresh-cut sod, 
On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Won- 
drous Names of God. 
The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun, 
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went 

forth but one. 
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty 

swords flew clear — 
There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of 

the mountaineer. 
"Ha* done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. "Put up the 

steel at your sides! 
"Last night ye had struck at a Border thief — to-night 't is 

a man of the Guides!" 

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall 

meet. 
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat; 
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, 
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from 

the ends of the earth ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 273 



THE LAST SUTTEE 



1889 

Not many years ago a King died in one of the Rajpoot States. His wives, 
disregarding the orders of the English against Suttee, would have broken out of 
the palace and burned themselves with the corpse had not the gates been barred. 
But one of them, disguised as the King's favourite dancing-girl, passed through 
the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, her courage failing, she prayed 
her cousin, a baron of the King's court, to kill her. This he did, not knowing 
who she was. 

jJDAI CHAND lay sick to death 

In his hold by Gungra hill. 
All night we heard the death-gongs ring, 
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King, 
All night beat up from the women's wing 
A cry that we could not still. 



All night the barons came and went, 

The Lords of the Outer Guard. 
All night the cressets glimmered pale 
On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail, 
Mewar headstall and Marwar mail, 
That clinked in the palace yard. 



In the Golden Room on the palace roof 

All night he fought for air: 
And there were sobbings behind the screen. 
Rustle and whisper of women unseen, 
And the hungry eyes of the Boondi Queen 

On the death she might not share. 



274 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He passed at dawn — the death-fire leaped 

From ridge to river-head, 
From the Malwa plains to the Abu scars: 
And wail upon wail went up to the stars 
Behind the grim zenana-bars, 

When they knew that the King was dead. 



The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth 

And robe him for the pyre. 
The Boondi Queen beneath us cried: 
"See, now, that we die as our mothers died 
"In the bridal-bed by our master's side! 

"Out, women! — to the fire!" 



We drove the great gates home apace — 

White hands were on the sill — 
But ere the rush of the unseen feet 
Had reached the turn to the open street, 
The bars shot down, the guard-drum beat- 
We held the dovecot still. 



A face looked down in the gathering day, 
And laughing spoke from the wall: 

"Ohe, they mourn here: let me by — 

"Azizun, the Lucknow nautch-girl, I! 

"W 7 hen the house is rotten, the rats must flr, 
"And I seek another thrall. 



"For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen, — 

"To-night the Queens rule me! 
"Guard them safely, but let me go, 
"Or ever they pay the debt they owe 
"In scourge and torture!" She leaped below. 

And the grim guard watched her flee. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 275 

They knew that the King had spent his soul 

On a North-bred dancing-girl: 
That he prayed to a flat-nosed Lucknow god, 
And kissed the ground where her feet had trod, 
And doomed to death at her drunken nod, 

And swore by her lightest curl. 



We bore the King to his fathers' place, 
Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand: 

Where the grey apes swing, and the peacocks preen 

On fretted pillar and jewelled screen, 

And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen 
On the drift of the desert sand. 



The herald read his titles forth 

We set the logs aglow: 
"Friend of the English, free from fear, 
"Baron of Luni to Jeysulmeer, 
"Lord of the Desert of Bikaneer, 

"King of the Jungle, — go!" 



All night the red flame stabbed the sky 

With wavering wind- tossed spears: 
And out of a shattered temple crept 
A woman who veiled her head and wept, 
And called on the King — but the great King slept. 

And turned not for her tears. 



One watched, a bow-shot from the blaze, 

The silent streets between, 
Who had stood by the King in sport and fray, 
To blade in ambush or boar at bay, 
And he was a baron old and grey, 

And kin to the Boondi Queen. 



276 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Small thought had he to mark the strife — 

Cold fear with hot desire — 
When thrice she leaped from the leaping flame, 
And thrice she beat her breast for shame, 
And thrice like a wounded dove she came 

And moaned about the fire. 



He said: "O shameless, put aside 

"The veil upon thy brow! 
"Who held the King and all his land 
"To the wanton will of a harlot's hand! 
"Will the white ash rise from the blistered brand t 

"Stoop down, and call him now!" 

Then she: "By the faith of my tarnished soul, 

"All things I did not well, 
"I had hoped to clear ere the fire died, 
"And lay me down by my master's side 
"To rule in Heaven his only bride, 

"While the others howl in Hell. 



"But I have felt the fire's breath, 

"And hard it is to die! 
"Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord 
"To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword 
"With base-born blood of a trade abhorred 
And the Thakur answered, "Ay." 



He drew and struck: the straight blade drank 

The life beneath the breast. 
"I had looked for the Queen to face the flame, 
"But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame — 
"Sister of mine, pass, free from shame. 

"Pass with thy King to rest!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 277 

The black log crashed above the white: 

The little flames and lean, 
Red as slaughter and blue as steel, 
That whistled and fluttered from head to heel, 
Leaped up anew, for they found their meal 

On the heart of — the Boondi Queen ! 



GENERAL JOUBERT 

1900 

(Died, South African War, March 27, 1900) 

\\/'ITH those that bred, with those that loosed the strife, 

He had no part whose hands were clear of gain; 
But subtle, strong, and stubborn, gave his life 
To a lost cause, and knew the gift was vain. 

Later shall rise a people, sane and great, 

Forged in strong fires, by equal war made one; 

Telling old battles over without hate — 

Not least his name shall pass from sire to son. 

He may not meet the onsweep of our van 
In the doomed city when we close the score; 

Yet o'er his grave — his grave that holds a man — 
Our deep-tongued guns shall answer his once more! 



GEHAZI 

1 9 1 5 

AA/HENCE comest thou, Gehazi. 

So reverend to behold, 
In scarlet and in ermines 

And chain of England's gold ? M 



278 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"From following after Naaman 

To tell him all is well, 
Whereby my zeal hath made me 

A Judge in Israel." 

Well done, well done, Gehazi! 

Stretch forth thy ready hand, 
Thou barely 'scaped from judgment^ 

Take oath to judge the land 
Unswayed by gift of money 

Or privy bribe, more base, 
Of knowledge which is profit 

In any market-place. 

Search out and probe, Gehazi, 

As thou of all canst try, 
The truthful, well-weighed answer 

That tells the blacker lie — 
The loud, uneasy virtue 

The anger feigned at will, 
To overbear a witness 

And make the Court keep still. 

Take order now, Gehazi, 

That no man talk aside 
In secret with his judges 

The while his case is tried. 
Lest he should show them — reason 

To keep a matter hid, 
And subtly lead the questions 

Away from what he did. 

Thou mirror of uprightness, 
What ails thee at thy vows? 

What means the risen whiteness 
Of the skin between thy brows? 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 279 

The boils that shine and burrow, 

The sores that slough and bleed — 
The leprosy of Naaman 
On thee and all thy seed? 
Stand up, stand up, Gehazi, 

Draw close thy robe and go, 
Gehazi, Judge in Israel, 
A leper white as snow! 



THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY 

1889 

^BDHUR RAHMAN, the Durani Chief y of him is the 

story told. 
His mercy fills the Khyber hills — his grace is manifold; 
He has taken toll of the North and the South — his glory 

reachethfar, 
And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to Kandahar. 

Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and Kaffir meet, 
The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the Street, 
And that was strait as running noose and swift as plunging 

knife, 
Tho' he who held the longer purse might hold the longer life. 
There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Euzufzai, 
Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die. 
It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was 

bared to knife; 
The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for his life. 

Then said the King: "Have hope, O friend! Yea, Death 

disgraced is hard. 
"Much honour shall be thine;" and called the Captain of the 

Guard, 



z8o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith, 
And he was honoured of the King — the which is salt to 

Death; 
And he was son of Daoud Shah, the Reiver of the Plains, 
And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins; 
And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor Heaven 

could bind, 
The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur of Hind. 

"Strike!" said the King. " King's blood art thou — his 

death shall be his pride!" 
Then louder, that the crowd might catch: "Fear not — his 

arms are tied!" 
Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, and 

sheathed again. 
"O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "A King this dog hath 

slain." 

.Ibdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North and the 
South is sold. 

The North and the South shall open their mouth to a 
Ghihai flag unrolled, 

When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and his dog- 
Herat is fly: 

Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long t Wolves 
of the Abazai ! 

That night before the watch was set, when all the streets 

were clear, 
The Governor of Kabul spoke: "My King, hast thou no 

fear? 
"Thou knowest — thou hast heard," — his speech died at his 

master's face. 
And grimly said the Afghan King: "I rule the Afghan race. 
" My path is mine — see thou to thine. To-night upon thy bed 
"Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for thy 

head." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 281 

That night when all the gates were shut to City and to throne. 
Within a little garden-house the King lay down alone. 
Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of Night, 
Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his honour white. 
The children of the town had mocked beneath his horse's 

hoofs, 
The harlots of the town had hailed him " butcher!" from then- 
roofs. 

But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him tell, 
The King behind his shoulder spake: "Dead man, thou dost 

not well! 
4 'T is ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon by night; 
"And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp to write. 
"But three days hence, if God be good, and if thy strength 

remain, 
"Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in thy pain. 
"For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee. 
"My butcher of the shambles, rest — no knife hast thou for 

me!" 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, holds hard by the South 

and the North; 
But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, when the 

swollen banks break forth, 
When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and his Usbeg 

lances fail: 
Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ? Wolves 

of the Zuka Kheyl ! 

They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was in the 

sky, 
According to the written word, " See that he do not die." 
They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the 

plain, 
And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled back 

again. 



282 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the bat- 
tered thing, 

And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the 
King. 

It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan, 

The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of Yar 

Khan. 
From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke forth the 

rattling breath, 
" Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death.'* 

They sought the King among his girls, and risked their lives 

thereby: 
" Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die!" 

" Bid him endure until the day," a lagging answer came; 
"The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my 

name." 
Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the day once 

more: 
"Creature of God, deliver me, and bless the King therefor!" 

They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of his pain, 
And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed the King 
again. 

Which thing the singers made a song for all the world to sing, 
So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the King. 

dbdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told, 
He has opened his mouth to the North and the South, they 

have stuffed his mouth with gold. 
Ye know the truth of his tender ruth — and sweet his favours 

are: 
Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ?—from 

Balkh to Kandahar. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST 

1890 

AA/'HEN spring-time flushes the desert grass, 

Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass. 
Lean are the camels but fat the frails, 
Light are the purses but heavy the bales, 
As the snowbound trade of the North comes down 
To the market-square of Peshawur town. 

In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, 
A kafila camped at the foot of the hill. 
Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose, 
And tent-peg answered to hammer-nose; 
And the picketed ponies, shag and wild, 
Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled; 
And the bubbling camels beside the load 
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road; 
And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale, 
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale; 
And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; 
And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood; 
And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk 
A savour of camels and carpets and musk, 
A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke, 
To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke. 

The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high, 
The knives were whetted and — then came I 
To Mahbub Ali, the muleteer, 
Patching his bridles and counting his gear, 
Crammed with the gossip of half a year. 
But Mahbub Ali the kindly said, 
"Better is speech when the belly is fed.'* 



2$4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep 
In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep, 
And he who never hath tasted the food, 
By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good. 

We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease, 
We lay on the mats and were filled with peace, 
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south, 
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth. 

Four things greater than all things are, — 

Women and Horses and Power and War. 

We cpake of them all, but the last the most. 

For I sought a word of a Russian post, 

Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword 

And a grey-coat guard on the Helmund ford. 

Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes 

In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. 

Quoth he: "Of the Russians who can say? 

"When the night is gathering all is grey a 

"But we look that the gloom of the night shall die 

"In the morning flush of a blood-red sky. 

"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 

"To warn a King of his enemies? 

"We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 

"But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 

"That unsought counsel is cursed of God 

"Attesteth the story of Wali Dad. 

"His sire was leaky of tongue and pen, 

"His dam was a clucking Khuttuck hen; 

"And the colt bred close to the vice of each, 

"For he carried the curse of an unstanched speech. 

"Therewith madness — so that he sought 

"The favour of kings at the Kabul court; 

"And travelled, in hope of honour, far 

"To the line where the grey-coat squadrons are. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 285 

"There have I journeyed too — but I 

"Saw naught, said naught, and — did not die! 

"He hearked to rumour, and snatched at a breath 

"Of 'this one knoweth' and 'that one saith,' — 

"Legends that ran from mouth to mouth 

"Of a grey-coat coming, and sack of the South. 

"These have I also heard — they pass 

"With each new spring and the winter grass. 

"Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God, 
"Back to the city ran Wali Dad, 
"Even to Kabul — in full durbar 
"The King held talk with his Chief in War. 
"Into the press of the crowd he broke, 
"And what he had heard of the coming spoke. 
"Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled, 
"As a mother might on a babbling child; 
" But those who would laugh restrained their breath, 
"When the face of the King showed dark as death. 
"Evil it is in full durbar 
"To cry to a ruler of gathering war! 
"Slowly he led to a peach-tree small, 
"That grew by a cleft of the city wall. 
"And he said to the boy: 'They shall praise thy zeal 
"'So long as the red spurt follows the steel. 
"'And the Russ is upon us even now? 
"'Great is thy prudence — wait them, thou. 
"'Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong. 
"'Surely the vigil is not for long. 
"'The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran? 
"'Surely an hour shall bring their van. 
"Wait and watch. When the host is near, 
"'Shout aloud that my men may hear.' 

"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 
"To warn a King of his enemies? 



286 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"A guard was set that he might not flee — 

"A score of bayonets ringed the tree, 

"The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow, 

"When he shook at his death as he looked below. 

"By the power of God, who alone is great, 

"Till the seventh day he fought with his fate. 

"Then madness took him, and men declare 

"He mowed in the branches as ape and bear, 

"And last as a sloth, ere his body failed, 

"And he hung like a bat in the forks, and wailed, 

"And sleep the cord of his hands untied, 

"And he fell, and was caught on the points and died. 

"Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise 
"To warn a King of his enemies? 
"We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 
"But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 
"Of the grey-coat coming who can say? 
"When the night is gathering all is grey. 
"Two things greater than all things are, 
"The first is Love, and the second War. 
"And since we know not how War may prove, 
"Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!" 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

1890 

More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi, an Indian 
Prince rode fifty miles after the day was lost with a beggar-girl, who had loved 
him and followed him in all his camps, on his saddle-bow. He lost the girl when 
almost within sight of safety. A Mahratta trooper tells the story: — 

"PHE wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the 
neck, 
Our hands and scarves were saffron-dyed for signal of 
despair, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 287 

When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the Mlech, — 
Ere we came back from Paniput and left a kingdom there. 



Thrice thirty thousand men were we to force the Jumna 
fords — 
The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed squadrons of 
the Bhao, 
Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's sharpest 
swords, 
And he, the harlot's traitor-son, the goatherd Mulhar 
Rao! 



Thrice thirty thousand men were we before the mists had 
cleared. 
The low white mists of morning heard the war-conch 
scream and bray. 
We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the beard, 
We rolled upon them like a flood and washed their ranks 
away. 



The children of the hills of Khost before our lances ran, 
We drove the black Rohillas back as cattle to the pen; 

'T was then we needed Mulhar Rao to end what we began, 
A thousand men had saved the charge; he fled the field 
with ten! 



There was no room to clear a sword — no power to strike a 
blow, 
For foot to foot, ay, breast to breast, the battle held us 
fast — 
Save where the naked hill-men ran, and stabbing from below 
Brought down the horse and rider and we trampled them 
and passed. 



288 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To left the roar of musketry rang like a falling flood — 

To right the sunshine rippled red from redder lance and 
blade — ■ 
Above the dark Upsaras 1 flew, beneath us plashed the blood, 
And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa Jhanda 
swayed. 

I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the Banner of the Bhao; 

I heard a voice across the press of one who called in vain: — 
"Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur, ride! Get aid of Mulhar 
Rao! 
"Go shame his squadrons into fight — the Bhao — the 
Bhao is slain!" 

Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume and 
spray, 
When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna water-head, 
Before their charge from flank to flank our riven ranks gave 
way — 
But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran red. 

I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might hold; 
A Soobah of the Deccan asks no aid to guard his life; 
But Holkar's Horse were flying, and our chiefest chiefs were 
cold, 
And like a flame among us leapt the long lean Northern 
knife. 

] held by Scindia — my lance from butt to tuft was dyed, 
The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the bridle- 
chain — 
What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose and cried, 
And clung to Scindia, and I turned a sword-cut from the 
twain. 

'The Choosers of the Slain. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 188S-1913 289 

(He set a spell upon the maid in woodlands long ago, 
A hunter by the Tapti banks, she gave him water there : 

He turned her heart to water, and she followed to her woe. 
What need had he of Lalun who had twenty maids as fair?) 



Now in that hour strength left my lord; he wrenched his marc 
aside; 
He bound the girl behind him and we slashed and struggled 
free. 
Across the reeling wreck of strife we rode as shadows ride 
From Paniput to Delhi town, but not alone were we. 

'T was Lutif-Ullah Populzai laid horse upon our track, 
A swine-fed reiver of the North that lusted for the maid; 

I might have barred his path awhile, but Scindia called me 
back, 
And I — O woe for Scindia! — I listened and obeyed. 

League after league the formless scrub took shape and glided 

b y- 

League after league the white road swirled behind the white 
mare's feet — 
League after league, when leagues were done, we heard the 
Populzai, 
Where sure as Time and swift as Death the tireless footfall 
beat. 

Noon's eye beheld that shame of flight; the shadows fell, we 
fled 
Where steadfast as the wheeling kite he followed in our 
train; 
The black wolf warred where we had warred, the jackal 
mocked our dead, 
And terror born of twilight-tide made mad the labouring 
brain. 



2 9 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I gasped: — "A kingdom waits my lord; her love is but her 
own. 
"A day shall mar, a day shall cure, for her — but what for 
thee? 
"Cut loose the girl: he follows fast. Cut loose and ride 
alone!" 
Then Scindia 'twixt his blistered lips: — "My Queens' 
Queen shall she be! 

" Of all who ate my bread last night 'twas she alone that came 

"To seek her love between the spears and find her crown 

therein ! 

1 ' One shame is mine to-day. What need the weight of double 

shame? 

" If once we reach the Delhi gate, though all be lost, I win ! w 



We rode — the white mare failed — her trot a staggering 
stumble grew, — 

The cooking-smoke of even rose and weltered and hung low; 
And still we heard the Populzai and still we strained anew, 

And Delhi town was very near, but nearer was the foe. 



Yea, Delhi town was very near when Lalun whispered: — 
"Slay! 
"Lord of my life, the mare sinks fast — stab deep and let 
me die!" 
But Scindia would not, and the maid tore free and flung 
away, 
And turning as she fell we heard the clattering Populzai. 



Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked and 
groaned for breath, 
And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a hands- 
breadth in her side — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 291 

The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause is 
death — 
The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared and fell 
and died. 

Our Gods were kind. Before he heard the maiden's piteous 
scream 

A log upon the Delhi road 5 beneath the mare he lay — 
Lost mistress and lost battle passed before him like a dream; 

The darkness closed about his eyes. I bore my King away ! 



THE DOVE OF DACCA 

1892 

PHE freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings— 
And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur. 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings! 

The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall; 

He set in his bosom a dove of flight — 
'If she return, be sure that I fall." 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight. 

"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep — 
Leave to the foeman no spoil at all. 

In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep 
If the dove — if the dove — if the homing dove 

Come and alone to the palace .wall 



292 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad- 
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all. 

Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford, 

And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove! 

She thought of her cote on the palace-wall. 



She opened her wings and she flew away — 
Fluttered away beyond recall; 

She came to the palace at break of day. 
Dove — dove — oh, homing dove, 

Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall! 



The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame — 

Slept in the flame of the palace old — 
To. save their honour from Moslem shame. 

And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove, 
She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled ! 



The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet, 
Followed as fast as a horse could fly, 

He came and the palace was black at his feet; 
And the dove — the dove — the homing dove, 

Circled alone in the stainless sky. 



So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings; 

So the thorns covered the city of Gaur, 
And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings. 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove, 

Dacca is lost from the Roll of the Kings! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 293 



THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE 

1888 

{Burma War, 1883-85) 

This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone y 

Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne. 

Who harried the District of Alalone: 

How he met with his fate and the V. P. P. % 

At the hand of Harendra Mukerji 

Senior Gomashta, G. B. T? 

gOH DA THONE was a warrior bold: 

His sword and his rifle were bossed with gold, 

And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore 
Was stiff with bullion, but stirrer with gore. 

He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak 
From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak: 

He crucified noble, he scarified mean, 
He filled old ladies with kerosene: 

While over the water the papers cried, 
"The patriot fights for his countryside!" 

But little they cared for the Native Press, 
The worn white soldiers in khaki dress, 

Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the byre, 
Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire, 

1 Value Payable Post = collect on delivery. 
'Head Clerk, Government Bullock Train. 



294 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command, 
For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the Land. 

Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone 
Was Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone, 

And his was a Company, seventy strong, 
Who hustled that dissolute Chief along. 

There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath 
Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth, 

And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal 
The mud on the boot-heels of "Crook" O'Neil. 

But ever a blight on their labours lay, 
And ever their quarry would vanish away, 

Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone 
Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone, 

And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends, 
The Boh and his trackers were best of friends. 

The word of a scout — a march by night — 
A rush through the mist — a scattering fight — 

A volley from cover — a corpse in the clearing — 
A glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring — 

The flare of a village — the tally of slain — 

And . . . the Boh was abroad on the raid again! 

They cursed their luck, as the Irish will, 
They gave him credit for cunning and skill, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 295 

They buried their dead, they bolted their beef, 
And started anew on the track of the thief, 

Till, in place of the "Kalends of Greece," men said, 
"When Crook and his darlings come back with the head." 

They had hunted the Boh from the hills to the plain — 
He doubled and broke for the hills again: 

They had crippled his power for rapine and raid, 
They had routed him out of his pet stockade, 

And at last, they came, when the Daystar tired, 
To a camp deserted — a village fired. 

A black cross blistered the Morning-gold, 
But the body upon it was stark and cold. 

The wind of the dawn went merrily past, 
The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast. 

And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke 
A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke — 

And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone 
Was blessed with a slug in the ulnar-bone — 
The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone. 

(Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire 
Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.) 



The shot-wound festered — as shot-wounds may 
In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. 

The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore, 
"I'd like to be after the Boh once more!" 



: 9 6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The fever held him — the Captain said, 
"I'd give a hundred to look at his head!" 

The Hospital punkahs creaked and whirred, 
But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard. 

He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank, 
That girdled his home by the Dacca tank. 

He thought of his wife and his High School son, 
He thought — but abandoned the thought — of a gun 

His sleep was broken by visions dread 
Of a shining Boh with a silver head. 

He kept his counsel and went his way, 
And swindled the cartmen of half their pay. 



And the months went on, as the worst must do, 
And the Boh returned to the raid anew. 

But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife, 
And in far Simoorie had taken a wife; 

And she was a damsel of delicate mould, 
With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold, 

And little she knew the arms that embraced 
Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist: 

And little she knew that the loving lips 
Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse, 

Or the eye that lit at her lightest breath 
Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 297 

(For these be matters a man would hide, 
As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.) 

And little the Captain thought of the past, 
And, of all men, Babu Harendra last. 



But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road, 
The Government Bullock Train toted its load. 

Speckless and spotless and shining with ghee} 
In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee; 

And ever a phantom before him fled 
Of a scowling Boh with a silver head. 

Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slaved. 
And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved, 

And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals, 
Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels! 

Then belching blunderbuss answered back 
The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack, 

And the blithe revolver began to sing 

To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring, 

And the brown flesh blued where the bayonet kissed- 
As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist, 

And the great white bullocks with onyx eyes 
Watched the souls of the dead arise, 

And over the smoke of the fusillade 

The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed. 

1 Butter. 



298 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The Babu shook at the horrible sight, 
And girded his ponderous loins for flight, 

But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start 
On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart, 

And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe, 
The Babu fell — flat on the top of the Boh! 

For years had Harendra served the State, 

To the growth of his purse and the girth of his pet. 1 

There were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows, 
On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs. 

And twenty stone from a height discharged 
Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged. 

Oh, short was the struggle — severe was the shock — 
He dropped like a bullock — he lay like a block; 

And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear, 
Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear. 

And thus in a fashion undignified 

The princely pest of the Chindwin died. 



Turn now to Simoorie, where, all at his ease, 
The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees, 

Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded man's scream 
Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream — 

Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles 

Where the hill-daisy blooms and the grey monkey gambols, 

'Stomach. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 299 

From the sword-belt set free and released from the steel, 
The Peace of the Lord is on Captain O'Neil! 

Up the hill to Simoorie — most patient of drudges — 
The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges. 

"For Captain O'Neil Sahib. One hundred and ten 
"Rupees to collect on delivery." 

Then 

(Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack and 

hammer 
Tore waxcloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out the dam- 

mer 1 ;) 

Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow, 
With a crash and a thud, rolled — the Head of the Boh! 

And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: — 
"In Fielding Force Service. 
"Encampment, 

"10th Jan. 

" Dear Sir, — I have honour to send, as you said, 
"For final approval (see under) Boh's Head; 

"Was took by myself in most bloody affair. 
"By High Education brought pressure to bear. 

"Now violate Liberty, time being bad, 

"To mail V. P. P. (rupees hundred) Please add 

" Whatever Your Honour can pass. Price of Blood 
"Much cheap at one hundred, and children want food; 

1 Native sealing-wax. 



3oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain 
"True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train, 

"And show awful kindness to satisfy me, 

"I am, 

"Graceful Master, 
"Your 

"H. MUKBRJI." 



As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power, 
As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour, 

As a horse reaches up to the manger above, 

As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love, 

From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow, 
The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh. 

And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay 
'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' array, 

The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days — 
The hand-to-hand scuffle — the smoke and the blaze — 

The forced march at night and the quick rush at dawn- 
The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn — 

The stench of the marshes — the raw, piercing smell 
When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell — 

The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood 
Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow flood. 

As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide 

The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 301 

Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year, 
When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. 

As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water, 
In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, 

And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life 
Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. 

For she who had held him so long could not hold him — 
Though a four-month Eternity should have controlled him ! — 

But watched the twin Terror — the head turned to head — 
The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage Red — 

The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to 
Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to, 

But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfearing, 
And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade earring!" 

Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend, 
"Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end." 



The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion : — 
"He took what I said in this horrible fashion? 

'77/ write to Harendra!" With language unsainted 
The Captain came back to the Bride . . . who had fainted. 



And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie 

And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri. 



;o2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin — 
She's always about on the Mall of a mornin' — 

And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is displaced, 
This: Gules upon argent l , a Boh's Head, erased I 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

1887 

J£R-HEB beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 

Bears witness to the truths and Ao-Safai 
Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale 
Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 

The story of Bisesa, Armod's child, — 
A maiden plighted to the Chief in War, 
The Man of Sixty Spears, who held the Pass 
That leads to Thibet, but to-day is gone 
To seek his comfort of the God called Budh 
The Silent — showing how the Sickness ceased 
Because of her who died to save the tribe. 

Taman is One and greater than us all, 
Taman is One and greater than all Gods: 
Taman is Two in One and rides the sky, 
Curved like a stallion's croup, from dusk to dawn. 
And drums upon it with his heels, by which 
Is bred the neighing thunder in the hills. 

This is Taman, the God of all Er-Heb, 

Who was before all Gods, and made all Gods, 

And presently will break the Gods he made, 

And step upon the Earth to govern men 

Who give him milk-dry ewes and cheat his Priests, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 303 

Or leave his shrine unlighted — as Er-Heb 
Left it unlighted and forgot Taman, 
When all the Valley followed after Kysh 
And Yabosh, little Gods but very wise, 
And from the sky Taman beheld their sin. 



He sent the Sickness out upon the hills 

The Red Horse Sickness with the iron hooves, 

To turn the Valley to Taman again. 

And the Red Horse snuffed thrice into the wind, 

The naked wind that had no fear of him; 

And the Red Horse stamped thrice upon the snow, 

The naked snows that had no fear of him; 

And the Red Horse went out across the rocks, 

The ringing rocks that had no fear of him; 

And downward, where the lean birch meets the snow, 

And downward, where the grey pine meets the birch, 

And downward, where the dwarf oak meets the pine, 

Till at his feet our cup-like pastures lay. 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 

Dropped as a cloth upon a dead man's face, 

And weltered in the valley, bluish-white 

Like water very silent — spread abroad, 

Like water very silent, from the Shrine 

Unlighted of Taman to where the stream 

Is dammed to fill our cattle-troughs — sent up 

White waves that rocked and heaved and stilled themselves, 

Till all the Valley glittered like a marsh, 

Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist 

Knee-deep, so that men waded as they walked. 

That night, the Red Horse grazed above the Dam, 
Beyond the cattle-troughs. Men heard him feed, 
And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 



3o 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Thus came the sickness to Er-Heb, and slew 
Ten men, strong men, and of the women four; 
And the Red Horse went hillward with the dawn, 
But near the cattle-troughs his hoof-print lay. 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 

Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, but rose 

A little higher, to a young girl's height; 

Till all the valley glittered like a lake, 

Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist. 

That night, the Red Horse grazed beyond the Dam 

A stone's-throw from the troughs. Men heard him feed, 

And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 

Thus came the sickness to Er-Heb, and slew 

Of men a score, and of the women eight, 

And of the children two. 

Because the road 
To Gorukh was a road of enemies, 
And Ao-Safai was blocked with early snows, 
We could not flee from out the Valley. Death 
Smote at us in a slaughter-pen, and Kysh 
Was mute as Yabosh, though the goats were slain; 
And the Red Horse grazed nightly by the stream, 
And later, outward, towards the Unlighted Shrine, 
And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 

Then said Bisesa to the Priests at dusk, 

When the white mist rose up breast-high, and choked 

The voices in the houses of the dead: — 

"Yabosh and Kysh avail not. If the Horse 

"Reach the Unlighted Shrine we surely die. 

"Ye have forgotten of all Gods the chief, 

"Taman!" Here rolled the thunder through the Hill. 

And Yabosh shook upon his pedestal. 

"Ye have forgotten of all Gods the chief 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 305 

"Too long." And all were dumb save one, who cried 
On Yabosh with the Sapphire 'twixt His knees, 
But found no answer in the smoky roof, 
And, being smitten of the sickness, died 
Before the altar of the Sapphire Shrine. 



Then said Bisesa: — "I am near to Death, 

"And have the Wisdom of the Grave for gift 

"To bear me on the path my feet must tread. 

"If there be wealth on earth, then I am rich, 

"For Armod is the first of all Er-Heb; 

"If there be beauty on the earth," — her eyes 

Dropped for a moment to the temple floor, — 

"Ye know that I am fair. If there be Love, 

"Ye know that love is mine." The Chief in War, 

The Man of Sixty Spears, broke from the press, 

And would have clasped her, but the Priests withstood 

Saying: — "She has a message from Taman." 

Then said Bisesa: — "By my wealth and love 

"And beauty, I am chosen of the God 

"Taman." Here rolled the thunder through the Hills 

And Kysh fell forward on the Mound of Skulls. 



In darkness, and before our Priests, the maid 

Between the altars cast her bracelets down, 

Therewith the heavy earrings Armod made, 

When he was young, out of the water-gold 

Of Gorukh — threw the breast-plate thick with jade 

Upon the turquoise anklets — put aside 

The bands of silver on her brow and neck; 

And as the trinkets tinkled on the stones, 

The thunder of Taman lowed like a bull. 



3 o6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then said Bisesa, stretching out her hands, 
As one in darkness fearing Devils: — "Help! 
"O Priests, I am a woman very weak. 
"And who am I to know the will of Gods? 
"Taman hath called me — whither shall I go?" 
The Chief in War, the Man of Sixty Spears, 
Howled in his torment, fettered by the Priests, 
But dared not come to her to drag her forth, 
And dared not lift his spear against the Priests. 
Then all men wept. 



There was a Priest of Kysh 
Bent with a hundred winters, hairless, blind, 
And taloned as the great Snow-Eagle is. 
His seat was nearest to the altar-fires, 
And he was counted dumb among the Priests. 
But, whether Kysh decreed, or from Taman 
The impotent tongue found utterance we know 
As little as the bats beneath the eaves. 
He cried so that they heard who stood without: — 
"To the Unlighted Shrine!'' and crept aside 
Into the shadow of his fallen God 
And whimpered, and Bisesa went her way. 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 

Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, and rose 

Above the roofs, and by the Unlighted Shrine 

Lay as the slimy water of the troughs 

When murrain thins the cattle of Er-Heb: 

And through the mist men heard the Red Horse feed 



In Armod's house they burned Bisesa's dower, 
And killed her black bull Tor, and broke her wheel, 
And loosed her hair, as for the marriage-feast, 
With cries more loud than mourning for the dead. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 307 

Across the fields, from Armod's dwelling-place, 

We heard Bisesa weeping where she passed 

To seek the Unlighted Shrine; the Red Horse neighed 

And followed her, and on the river-mint 

His hooves struck dead and heavv in our ears. 



Out of the mists of evening, as the star 

Of Ao-Safai climbs through the black snow-blurs 

To show the Pass is clear, Bisesa stepped 

Upon the great grey slope of mortised stone, 

The Causeway of Taman. The Red Horse neighed 

Behind her to the Unlighted Shrine — then fled 

North to the Mountain where his Stable lies. 



They know who dared the anger of Taman, 
And watched that night above the clinging mists, 
Far up the hill, Bisesa's passing in. 

She set her hand upon the carven door, 
Fouled by a myriad bats, and black with time, 
Whereon is graved the Glory of Taman 
In letters older than the Ao-Safai; 
And twice she turned aside and twice she wept, 
Cast down upon the threshold, clamouring 
For him she loved — the Man of Sixty Spears, 
And for her father, — and the black bull Tor, 
Hers and her pride. Yea, twice she turned away 
Before the awful darkness of the door, 
And the great horror of the Wall of Man 
Where Man is made the plaything of Taman, 
An Eyeless Face that waits above and laughs. 

But the third time she cried and put her palms 
Against the hewn stone leaves, and prayed Taman 
To spare Er-Heb and take her life for price. 



3o8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They know who watched, the doors were rent apart 
And closed upon Bisesa, and the rain 
Broke like a flood across the Valley, washed 
The mist away; but louder than the rain 
The thunder of Taman filled men with fear. 



Some say that from the Unlighted Shrine she cried 

For succour, very pitifully, thrice, 

And others that she sang and had no fear. 

And some that there was neither song nor cry, 

But only thunder and the lashing rain. 



Howbeit, in the morning men rose up, 
Perplexed with horror, crowding to the Shrine. 
And when Er-Heb was gathered at the doors 
The Priests made lamentation and passed in 
To a strange Temple and a God they feared 
But knew not. 



From the crevices the grass 
Had thrust the altar-slabs apart, the walls 
Were grey with stains unclean, the roof-beams swelled 
With many-coloured growth of rottenness, 
And lichen veiled the Image of Taman 
In leprosy. The Basin of the Blood 
Above the altar held the morning sun: 
A winking ruby on its heart. Below ? 
Face hid in hands, the maid Bisesa lay. 



Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 
Bears witness to the truths and Ao-Safai 
Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the ta*e 
Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 309 

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE 
THIEF 



/^\ WOE is me for the merry life 

I led beyond the Bar, 
And a treble woe for my winsome wife 
That weeps at Shalimar. 

They have taken away my long jezail \ 

My shield and sabre fine, 
And heaved me into the Central Jail 

For lifting of the kine. 

The steer may low within the byre> 
The Jat may tend his grain, 

But there'll be neither loot nor fire 
Till I come back again. 

And God have mercy on the Jat 

When once my fetters fall, 
And Heaven defend the farmer's hut 

When I am loosed from thrall. 

It's woe to bend the stubborn back 

Above the grinching quern, 
It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack 

And jingle when I turn! 

But for the sorrow and the shame, 
The brand on me and mine, 

I'll pay you back in leaping flame 
And Joss of the butchered kine. 

! Native gun. 



310 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For every cow I spared before — 

In charity set free — 
If I may reach my hold once more 

I'll reive an honest three. 



For every time I raised the lowe 
That scared the dusty plain, 

By sword and cord, by torch and tow 
I'll light the land with twain! 



Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, 

Young Sahib with the yellow hair — 

Lie close, lie close as Khuttucks 1 lie, 
Fat herds below Bonair! 



The one I'll shoot at twilight-tide, 
At dawn I'll drive the other; 

The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, 
The white man for his brother. 



'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then, 

War till my sinews fail; 
For the wrong you have done to a chief of men, 

And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. 



And if I fall to your hand afresh 

I give you leave for the sin, 
That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh. 

And swing me in the skin ! 

l A tribe on the Indian frontier. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 311 

THE FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN 

1 897 

'M'OW the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting 
Winds are loose — 
Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain; 
Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper of 
the Trues, 
Now the Red Gods make their medicine again! 
Who hath seen the beaver busied? Who hath watched the 
black-tail mating? 
Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry? 
Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is 
waiting, 
Or the sea-trout's jumping-crazy for the fly? 

He must go — go — go away from here ! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
'Send your road is clear before you when the old Spring- 
fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you ! 

So for one the wet sail arching through the rainbow round 
the bow, 
And for one the creak of snow-shoes on the crust; 
And for one the lakeside lilies where the bull-moose waits the 
cow, 
And for one the mule-train coughing in the dust. 
Who hath smelt wood-smoke at twilight? Who hath heard 
the birch-log burning? 
Who is quick to read the noises of the night? 
Let him follow with the others, for the Young Men's feet are 
turning 
To the camps of proved desire and known delight! 

Let him go — go, etc. 



3 i2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



I 

Do you know the blackened timber — do you know that racing 
stream 
With the raw, right-angled log-jam at the end; 
And the bar of sun-warmed shingle where a man may bask 
and dream 
To the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend? 
It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces, 

To a silent, smoky Indian that we know — 
To a couch of new-pulled hemlock, with the starlight on our 
faces, 
For the Red Gods call us out and we must go! 

They must go — go, etc. 

II 

Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are steep and 
short, 
Where the bluff, lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? 
Do you know the joy of threshing leagues to leeward of your 
port 
On a coast you've lost the chart of overside? 
It is there that I am going, with an extra hand to bale her — 

Just one able 'long-shore loafer that I know. 
He can take his chance of drowning, while I sail and sail and 
sail her, 
For the Red Gods call me out and I must go! 

He must go — go, etc. 

Ill 

Do you know the pile-built village where the sago-dealers 

trade — 
Do you know the reek of fish and wet bamboo? 
Do you know the steaming stillness of the orchid-scented 

glade 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 315 

When the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap through: 
It is there that I am going with my camphor, net, and boxes, 

To a gentle, yellow pirate that I know — 
To my little wailing lemurs, to my palms and flying-foxes, 

For the Red Gods call me out and I must go! 

He must go — go, etc. 

IV 

Do you know the world's white roof-tree — do you know that 
windy rift 
Where the baffling mountain-eddies chop and change? 
Do you know the long day's patience 3 belly-down on frozen 
drift, 
While the head of heads is feeding out of range? 
It is there that I am going, where the boulders and the snow 
lie, 
With a trusty, nimble tracker that I know, 
I have sworn an oath, to keep it on the Horns of Ovis Poli, 
And the Red Gods call me out and I must go! 

He must go — go, etc. 

Now the Four-way Lodge is opened — now the Smokes of 
Council rise — 
Pleasant smokes, ere yet 'twixt trail and trail they choose — 
Now the girths and ropes are tested: now they pack their last 
supplies: 
Now our Young Men go to dance before the Trues! 
Who shall meet them at those altars — who shall light them 
to that shrine? 
Velvet- footed, who shall guide them to their goal? 
Unto each the voice and vision: unto each his spoor and 

sign- 
Lonely mountain in the Northland, misty sweat-bath 'neath 
the Line — 



3 i4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And to each a man that knows his naked soul! 
White or yellow, black or copper, he is waiting, as a lover, 

Smoke of funnel, dust of hooves, or beat of train — 
Where the high grass hides the horseman or the glaring flats 

discover — 
Where the steamer hails the landing, or the surf-boat brings 

the rover — 
Where the rails run out in sand-drift . . . Quick! ah, 
heave the camp-kit over, 
For the Red Gods make their medicine again! 



And we go — go — go away fro m here ! 

On the other side the world we 're overdue ! 
'Send the road is clear before you when the old Spring- 
fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you ! 



A BOY SCOUTS' PATROL SONG 

1 9 i 3 

'"PHESE are our regulations — 

There's just one law for the Scout 
And the first and the last, and the present and the past, 
And the future and the perfect is "Look out!" 

I, thou and he, look out! 

We, ye and they, look out! 

Though you didn't or you wouldn't 

Or you hadn't or you couldn't; 

You jolly well must look out! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Look out, when you start for the day 

That your kit is packed to your mind; 
There is no use going away 

With half of it left behind. 
Look out that your laces are tight, 

And your boots are easy and stout, 
Or you'll end with a blister at night., j 

{Chorus) All Patrols look out! 

Look out for the birds of the air, 

Look out for the beasts of the field — 
They'll tell you how and where 

The other side's concealed. 
When the blackbird bolts from the copse, 

Or the cattle are staring about. 
The wise commander stops 

And {chorus) All Patrols look out I 



Look out when your front is clear, 

And you feel you are bound to win. 
Look out for your flank and your rear- 

That's where surprises begin* 
For the rustle that isn't a rat 3 

For the splash that isn't a trout, 
For the boulder that may be a hat 

{Chorus) All Patrols look out! 



For the innocent knee-high grass^ 

For the ditch that never tells, 
Look out! Look out ere you pass — 

And look out for everything else! 
A sign mis-read as you run 

May turn retreat to a rout— 
For all things under the sun 

(Chorus) All Patrols look out! 



3 i6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Look out when your temper goes 

At the end of a losing game; 
When your boots are too tight for your toes; 

And you answer and argue and blame. 
It's the hardest part of the Law, 

But it has to be learnt by the Scout- 
For whining and shirking and "jaw" 

{Chorus) All Patrols look out! 



THE TRUCE OF THE BEAR 

1898 

V"EARLY, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go 
By the pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below. 
Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in — 
Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin. 

Eyeless, noseless, and lipless — toothless, broken of speech, 
Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each; 
Over and over the story, ending as he began: 
"Make ye no truce with Adam-zad — the Bear that walks like 
a Man! 

"There was a flint in my musket — pricked and primed was 

the pan, 
When I went hunting Adam-zad — the Bear that stands like 

a Man. 
I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the snow, 
When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago! 

"I knew his times and his seasons, as he knew mine, that fed 
By night in the ripened maizefield and robbed my house of 

bread. 
I knew his strength and cunning, as he knew mine, that crept 
At dawn to the crowded goat-pens and plundered while I slept. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 317 

*Up from his stony playground — down from his well-digged 

lair — 
Out on the naked ridges ran Adam-zad the Bear; 
Groaning, grunting, and roaring, heavy with stolen meals, 
Two long marches to northward, and I was at his heels! 



"Two long marches to northward, at the fall of the second 

night, 
I came on mine enemy Adam-zad all panting from his flight. 
There was a charge in the musket — pricked and primed was 

the pan — 
My finger crooked on the trigger — when he reared up like 

a man. 



"Horrible, hairy, human, with paws like hands in prayer, 

Making his supplication rose Adam-zad the Bear! 

I looked at the swaying shoulders, at the paunch's swag and 
swing, 

And my heart was touched with pity for the monstrous, plead- 
ing thingo 

"Touched with pity and wonder, I did not fire then 

I have looked nc more on women — I have walked no more 

with men. 
Nearer lie tottered and nearer, with paws like hands that 

ipr&y — 
From brow to jaw that steel-shod paw, it ripped my face 

away ! 



"Sudden, silent, and savage, searing as flame the blow — 
Faceless I fell before his feet, fifty summers ago. 
I heard him grun* and chuckle — I heard him pass to his den 
He left m;; blind to the darkened years and the little mercy oi 
men. 



318 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Now ye go down In the morning with guns of the newer 

style, 
That load (I have felt) in the middle and range (I have heard) 

a mile? 
Luck to the white man's rifle, that shoots so fast and true, 
But — pay, and I lift my bandage and show what the Bear 

can do!" 



(Flesh like slag in the furnace, knobbed and withered and 

grey— 
Matun, the old blind beggar, he gives good worth for his 

''Rouse him at noon in the bushes, follow and press him hard — 
Not for his ragings and roarings flinch ye from Adam-zad. 

"But (pay, and I put back the bandage) this is the time to 

fear, 
When he stands up like a tired man, tottering near and near; 
When he stands up as pleading, in wavering, man-brute guise, 
When he veils the hate and cunning of his little, swinish eyes; 

"When he shows as seeking quarter, with paws like hands in 

prayer, 
That is the time of peril — the time of the Truce of the Bear!" 

Eyeless, noseless, and lipless, asking a dole at the door, 
Matun, the old blind beggar, he tells it o'er and o'er; 
Fumbling and feeling the rifles, warming his hands at the 

flame, 
Hearing our careless white men talk of the morrow's game; 



Over and over the story, ending as he began: — 
"There is no truce with Adam-zad^ the Bear that looks like a 
Man!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 319 

RUSSIA TO THE PACIFISTS 



C^LOD rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, 
But — leave your sports a little while — the dead are borne 
this way! 
Armies dead and Cities dead, past all count or care. 
God rest you, merry gentlemen, what portent see you there: 
Singing: — Break ground for a wearied host 
That have no ground to keep. 
Give them the rest that they covet most . . . 
And who shall next to sleep, good sirs, 
In such a trench to sleep? 

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass. 
We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was. 
For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this Pride 
Three hundred years it flourished — in three hundred days it 
died. 

Singing: — Pour oil for a frozen throng, 
That lie about the ways. 
Give them the warmth they have lacked so 

long ... 
And what shall be next to blaze, good sirs, 
On such a pyre to blaze ? 

God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light ! 
Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight, 
Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire, 
And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire. 
Singing: — Break bread for a starving folk 

That perish in the field. 

Give them their food as they take the yoke . . , 

And who shall be next to yield, good sirs, 

For such a bribe to yield? 



3 2o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

God rest you, merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth! 
Was ever Kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood, and earth: 
'Twixt the cummer and the snow — seeding-time and frost — 
Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost! 
Singing: — Let down by the foot and the head — 

Shovel and smooth it all ! 

So do we bury a Nation dead . . 

And who shall be next to fall, good sirs, 

With your good help to fall? 



THE PEACE OF DIVES 

i 903 

TTfE Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay: 
" "Our World is full of wickedness, My Children maim and 

slay, 
"And the Saint and Seer and Prophet 
" Can make no better of it 
"Than to sanctify and prophesy and pray. 

"Rise up, rise up, thou Dives, and take again thy gold, 
"And thy women and thy housen as they were to thee of old. 

"It may be grace hath found thee 

"In the furnace where We bound thee, 
"And that thou shalt bring the peace My Son foretold." 



Then merrily rose Dives and leaped from out his fire, 
And walked abroad with diligence to do the Lord's desire; 

And anon the battles ceased, 

And the captives were released, 
And Earth had rest from Goshen to Gadirc. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 521 

The Word came down to Satan that raged and roared alone, 
'Mid the shouting of the peoples by the cannon overthrown 

(But the Prophets, Saints, and Seers 

Set each other by the ears, 
For each would claim the marvel as his own): 



41 Rise up, rise up, thou Satan, upon the Earth to go. 
"And prove the Peace of Dives if it be good or no: 

"For all that he hath planned 

"We deliver to thy hand, 
"As thy skill shall serve, to break it or bring low." 



Then mightily rose Satan, and about the Earth he hied, 
And breathed on Kings in idleness and Princes drunk with 
pride. 

But for all the wrong he breathed 

There was never sword unsheathed, 
And the fires he lighted flickered out and died. 



Then terribly rose Satan, and he darkened Earth afar, 
Till he came on cunning Dives where the money-changetw 
are; 

And he saw men pledge their gear 

For the gold that buys the spear, 
And the helmet and the habergeon of war. 



Yea to Dives came the Persian and the Syrian and the Mede — 
And their hearts were nothing altered, nor their cunning not 
their greed — 

And they pledged their flocks and farms 

For the King-compelling arms, 
And Dives lent according to their need. 



322 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then Satan said to Dives: — "Return again with me, 
M Who hast broken His Commandment in the day He set thee 
free, 

"Who grindest for thy greed, 

"Man's belly-pinch and need; 
"And the blood of Man to filthy usury!" 

Then softly answered Dives where the money-changers sit: — 
"My refuge is Our Master, O My Master in the Pit. 

"But behold all Earth is laid 

"In the Peace which I have made, 
"And behold I wait on thee to trouble it!" 

Then angrily turned Satan, and about the Seas he fled, 

To shake the new-sown peoples with insult, doubt, and dread; 

But, for all the sleight he used, 

There was never squadron loosed. 
And the brands he flung flew dying and fell dead. 

But to Dives came Atlantis and the Captains of the West — 
And their hates were nothing weakened nor their anger nor 
unrest — 

And they pawned their utmost trade 

For the dry, decreeing blade; 
And Dives lent and took of them their best. 

Then Satan said to Dives: — "Declare thou by The Name, 
"The secret of thy subtlety that turneth mine to shame. 

"It is known through all the Hells 

"How my peoples mocked my spells, 
"And my faithless Kings denied me ere I came." 

Then answered cunning Dives: "Do not gold and hate abide 
"At the heart of every Magic, yea, and senseless fear beside? 

"With gold and fear and hate 

"I have harnessed state to state, 
"And by hate and fear and gold their hates are tied. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 323 

"For hate men seek a weapon, for fear they seek a shield — 
"Keener blades and broader targes than their frantic neigh- 
hours wield — 

"For gold I arm their hands, 

"And for gold I buy their lands, 
"And for gold I sell their enemies the yield. 



"Their nearest foes may purchase, or their furthest friends 

may lease, 
"One by one from Ancient Accad to the Islands of the Seas. 

"And their covenants they make 

"For the naked iron's sake, 
"But I — I trap them armoured into peace. 



"The flocks that Egypt pledged me to Assyria I drave, 
"And Pharaoh hath the increase of the herds that Sargon 
gave. 

"Not for Ashdod overthrown 

"Will the Kings destroy their own, 
"Or their peoples wake the strife they feign to brave. 



"Is not Carchemish like Calno? For the steeds of their 

desire 
"They have sold me seven harvests that I sell to Crowning 
Tyre; 
"And the Tyrian sweeps the plains 
"With a thousand hired wains, 
"And the Cities keep the peace and — share the hire. 

"Hast thou seen the pride of Moab? For the swords about 

his path, 
"His bond is to Philistia, in half of all he hath. 

"And he dare not draw the sword 

"Till Gaza give the word, 
"And he show release from Askalon and Gath. 






324 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Wilt thou call again thy peoples, wilt thou craze anew thy 

Kings ? 
"Lo! my lightnings pass before thee, and their whistling 
servant brings, 
"Ere the drowsy street hath stirred — 
"Every masked and midnight word, 
"And the nations break their fast upon these things. 

"So I make a jest of Wonder, and a mock of Time and Space. 
"The roofless Seas an hostel, and the Earth a market-place* 

"Where the anxious traders know 

"Each is surety for his foe, 
"And none may thrive without his fellows' grace. 

"Now this is all my subtlety and this is all my wit, 

"God give thee good enlightenment, My Master in the Pit 

"But behold all Earth is laid 

"In the Peace which I have made, 
"And behold I wait on thee to trouble it!" 



A SONG OF THE WHITE MEN 

i 899 

]V"OW, this is the cup the White Men drink 

When they go to right a wrong, 
And that is the cup of the old world's hate — 

Cruel and strained and strong. 
We have drunk that cup — and a bitter, bitter cup 

And tossed the dregs away. 
But well for the world when the White Men drink 

To the dawn of the White Man's day! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Now, this is the road that the White Men tread 

When they go to clean a land — 
Iron underfoot and levin overhead 

And the deep on either hand. 
We have trod that road — and a wet and windy road — 

Our chosen star for guide. 
Oh, well for the world when the White Men tread 

Their highway side by side! 

Now, this is the faith that the White Men hold 

When they build their homes afar — 
"Freedom for ourselves and freedom for our sons 

And, failing freedom, War." 
We have proved our faith — bear witness to our faith, 

Dear souls of freemen slain ! 
Oh, well for the world when the White Men join 

To prove their faith again ! 



J- 6 :* 



THE ROWERS 



1902 



When Germany proposed that England should help her in a naval dem- 
onstration to collect debts from Venezuela.) 



*^pHE banked oars fell an hundred strong, 
""" And backed and threshed and ground, 
But bitter was the rowers' song 

As they brought the war-boat round. 

They had no heart for the rally and roar 
That makes the whale-bath smoke — 

When the great blades cleave and hold and leave 
As one on the racing stroke. 



326 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They sang: — 'What reckoning do you keep, 

And steer her by what star, 
If we come unscathed from the Southern deep 

To be wrecked on a Baltic bar? 



"Last night you swore our voyage was done, 

But seaward still we go. 
And you tell us now of a secret vow 

You have made with an open foe! 

"That we must lie off a lightless coast 

And haul and back and veer, 
At the will of the breed that have wronged us most 

For a year and a year and a year! 

"There was never a shame in Christendie 

They laid not to our door — 
And you say we must take the winter sea 

And sail with them once more? 

"Look South! The gale is scarce o'erpast 

That stripped and laid us down, 
When we stood forth but they stood fast 

And prayed to see us drown. 

"Our dead they mocked are scarcely cold, 

Our wounds are bleeding yet — 
And you tell us now that our strength is sold 

To help them press for a debt! 

" 'Neath all the flags of all mankind 

That use upon the seas, 
Was there no other fleet to find 

That you strike hands with these? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 327 

"Of evil times that men can choose 

On evil fate to fall, 
What brooding Judgment let you loose 

Tc pick the worst of all ? 

"In sight of peace — from the Narrow Seas 

O'er half the world to run — 
With a cheated crew, to league anew 

With the Goth and the shameless Hun!" 



AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 

1890 

MOW this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser 

decreed, 
To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their 

need, 
He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and 

sweat, 
That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks 

be set. 

The Lords of Their Hands assembled. From the East and 

the West they drew — 
Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe. 
And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown 

from the soil, 
And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of 

toil. 

And the young King said: — "I have found it, the road to 

the rest ye seek: 
"The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall halt for 

the weak; 



328 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from 

the line, 
"Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of brother 

hood — sign!" 

The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed thereby, 
And a wail went up from the peoples: — "Ay, sign — give 

rest, for we die!" 
A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was cramped to 

scrawl, 
When — the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear through 

the council-hall 



And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw Her 

plain — 
Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane. 
And the Spirit of Man That is in Him to the light of the 

vision woke; 
And the men drew back from the paper, as a Yankee delegate 

spoke: — 

"There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the telephone; 
"We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house of our 

own, 
"With gas and water connections, and steam-heat through to 

the top; 
"And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I drop." 

And an English delegate thundered: — "The weak an' the 

lame be blowed! 
"I've a berth in the Sou '-West workshops, a homt in the 

Wandsworth Road; 
"And till the 'sociation has footed my bury in' bill, 
"I work for the kids an' the missus. Pull up! I'll be damned 

if I will!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 329 

And overjihe German benches the bearded whisper ran: — 
"Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey breaks 

a man. 
"If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der girl 

deremit; 
" But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl from 

Schmitt." 

They passed one resolution: — "Your sub-committee believe 
"You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lifted the 

curse of Eve. 
"But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel 

and pen, 
" We will work for ourselves and a woman, for ever and ever, 

amen." 

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser held — 
The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day that the 

Cat was belled, 
The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the Twisted 

Sands, 
The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the Lords of 

Their Hands. 



A DEATH-BED 

1 9 1 8 

PHIS is the State above the Law. 

The State exists for the State alone." 
[This is a gland at the back of the jaw \ 

And an answering lump by the collar-bone \ 

-Some die shouting in gas or fire; 

Some die silent, by shell and shot. 
Some die desperate, caught on the wire; 

Some die suddenly. This will not. 



33o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Regis suprema voluntas Lex" 

[It will follow the regular course of — throats.) 
Some die pinned by the broken decks. 

Some die sobbing between the boats. 

Some die eloquent, pressed to death 

By the sliding trench as their friends can hear. 

Some die wholly in half a breath. 
Some — give trouble for half a year. 



"There is neither Evil nor Good in life 
Except as the needs of the State ordain." 

[Since it is rather too late for the knife y 
All we can do is to mask the pain.] 

Some die saintly in faith and hope — 
One died thus in a prison-yard — 

Some die broken by rape or the rope; 
Some die easily. This dies hard. 

"I will dash to pieces who bar my way. 

Woe to the traitor! Woe to the weak!" 
[Let him write what he wishes to say. 

It tires him out if he tries to speak.] 

Some die quietly. Some abound 
In loud self-pity. Others spread 

Bad morale through the cots around . . 
This is a type that is better dead. 

"The war was forced on me by my foes. 

All that I sought was the right to live." 
[Don't be afraid of a triple dose; 

The pain will neutralize half we give. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 331 

Here are the needles. See that he dies 

While the effects of the drug endure. . . . 

What is the question he asks with his eyes? — 
Yes, All-Highest, to God, be sure.} 



ET DONA FERENTES 

1896 

TN EXTENDED observation of the ways and works of man, 
From the Four-mile Radius roughly to the Plains of 

Hindustan: 
I have drunk with mixed assemblies, seen the racial ruction 

rise, 
And the men of half Creation damning half Creation's eyes. 

I have watched them in their tantrums, all that pentecostal 

crew, 
French, Italian, Arab, Spaniard, Dutch and Greek, and Russ 

and Jew, 
Celt and savage, buff and ochre, cream and yellow, mauve 

and white; 
But it never really mattered till the English grew polite; 

Tillthe men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock- 
coats, 

Till the men who do not duel, till the men who war with votes, 

Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Lawrence took 
his grid, 

Began to "beg your pardon" and — the knowing croupier 
hid. 

Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring 

the beer, 
Felt the psychologic moment, left the lit casino clear; 



33* RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul, 
Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, decep- 
tive drawl. 



As it was in ancient Suez or 'neath wilder, milder skies, 
I "observe with apprehension" when the racial ructions rise; 
And with keener apprehension, if I read the times aright, 
Hear the old casino order: "Watch your man, but be polite. 

"Keep your temper. Never answer (that was why they spat 

and swore). 
Don't hit first, but move together (there's no hurry) to the 

door. 
Back to back, and facing outward while the linguist tells 'em 

how — 
"Nous so?nmes a/long ah notre batteau, nous ne voulong pas 

un row'" 

So the hard, pent rage ate inward, till some idiot went too 
far . . . 

"Let 'em have it!" and they had it, and the same was mem- 
war. 

Fist, umbrella, cane, decanter, lamp and beer-mug, chair and 
boot — 

Till behind the fleeing legions rose the long, hoarse yell for 
loot. 

Then the oil-cloth with its numbers, like a banner fluttered 
free; 

Then the grand piano cantered, on three castors, down the 
quay; 

White, and breathing through their nostrils, silent, syste- 
matic, swift — 

They removed, effaced, abolished all that man could heave or 
lift. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 333 

Oh, my country, bless the training that from cot to castle 
runs — 

The pitfall of the stranger but the bulwark of thy sons — 

Measured speech and ordered action, sluggish soul and un- 
perturbed, 

Till we wake our Island-Devil — nowise cool for being curbed! 

When the heir of all the ages "has the honour to remain, " 
When he will not hear an insult, though men make it ne'er so 

plain, 
When his lips are schooled to meekness, when his back is 

bowed to blows — 
Well the keen aas-vogels know it — well the waiting jackal 

knows. 

Build on the flanks of Etna where the sullen smoke-puffs 

float — 
Or bathe in tropic waters where the lean fin dogs the boat — 
Cock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamite — 
But oh, beware my Country, when my Country grows 

polite! 



THE HOLY WAR 



1 9 1 7 

C*For here lay the excellent wisdom of him that built Mansoul, that the 
walls could never be broken down nor hurt by the most mighty adverse 
potentate unless the townsmen gave consent thereto." — Bunyan's 
H«ly War.) 

j£ TINKERout of Bedford, 

A vagrant oft in quod, 
A private under Fairfax, 
A minister of God — 






334 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Two hundred years and thirty 

Ere Armageddon came 
His single hand portrayed it, 

And Bunyan was his name I 

He mapped for those who follow, 

The world in which we are — 
"This famous town of Mansoul" 

That takes the Holy War. 
Her true and traitor people, 

The gates along her wall, 
From Eye Gate unto Feel Gate, 

John Bunyan showed them all. 

All enemy divisions, 

Recruits of every class, 
And highly-screened positions 

For flame or poison-gas; 
The craft that we call modern, 

The crimes that we call new, 
John Bunyan had 'em typed and filed 

In Sixteen Eighty-two. 

Likewise the Lords of Looseness 
That hamper faith and works, 

The Perseverance-Doubters, 
And Present-Comfort shirks, 

With brittle intellectuals 

Who crack beneath a strain — 

John Bunyan met that helpful set- 
In Charles the Second's reign* 

Emmanuel's vanguard dying 
For right and not for rights, 

My Lord Apollyon lying 

To the State-kept Stockholmites, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 335 

The Pope, the swithering Neutrals, 

The Kaiser and his Gott — 
Their roles, their goals, their naked souls — 

He knew and drew the lot. 

Now he hath left his quarters, 

In Bunhill Fields to lie, 
The wisdom that he taught us 

Is proven prophecy — 
One watchword through our Armies, 

One answer from our Lands: — 
"No dealings with Diabolus 

As long as Mansoul stands!" 

A pedlar from a hovel, 

The lowest of the low, 
The Father of the Novel, 

Salvation's first Defoe, 
Eight blinded generations 

Ere Armageddon ca?ne, 
He showed us how to meet it, 

And Bunyan was his name ! 



FRANCE 

1 9 1 3 

T?ROKE to every known mischance, lifted over all 

By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul; 
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil, 
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil; 
Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man s mind, 
First to follow Truth and last to leave old Truths behind — 
France, beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind I 



336 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side by side we lay 
Fretting in the womb of Rome to begin our fray. 
Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one task was known- 
Each to mould the other's fate as he wrought his own. 
To this end we stirred mankind till all Earth was ours, 
Till our world-end strifes begat wayside Thrones and Powers- 
Puppets that we made or broke to bar the other's path — 
Necessary, outpost-folk, hirelings of our wrath. 
To this end we stormed the seas, tack for tack, and burst 
Through the doorways of new worlds, doubtful which wa^ 

first, 
Hand on hilt (rememberest thou?) ready for the blow — 
Sure, whatever else we met, we should meet our foe. 
Spurred or balked at every stride by the other's strength, 
So we rode the ages down and every ocean's length! 

Where did you refrain from us or we refrain from you? 
Ask the wave that has not watched war between us two! 
Others held us for a while, but with weaker charms, 
These we quitted at the call for each other's arms. 
Eager toward the known delight, equally we strove — 
Each the other's mystery, terror, need, and love. 
To each other's open court with our proofs we came. 
Where could we find honour else, or men to test our claim ? 
From each other's throat we wrenched — valour's last re- 
ward — 
That extorted word of praise gasped 'twixt lunge and guard 
In each other's cup we poured mingled blood and tears, 
Brutal joys, unmeasured hopes, intolerable fears — 
All that soiled or salted life for a thousand years. 
Proved beyond the need of proof, matched in every clime, 
O Companion, we have lived greatly through all time! 

Yoked in knowledge and remorse, now we come to rest, 
Laughing at old villainies that Time has turned to jest; 
Pardoning old necessities no pardon can efface — 
That undying sin we shared in Rouen market-place. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 337 

Now we watch the new years shape, wondering if they hold 
Fiercer lightnings in their heart than we launched of old. 
Now we hear new voices rise, question, boast or gird, 
As we raged (rememberest thou?) when our crowds were 

stirred. 
Now we count new keels afloat, and new hosts on land, 
xVTassed like ours (rememberest thou?) when our strokes were 

planned. 
We were schooled for dear life's sake, to know each other's 

blade. 
What can Blood and Iron make more than we have made? 
We have learned by keenest use to know each other's mind. 
What shall Blood and Iron loose that we cannot bind? 
We who swept each other's coast, sacked each other's home, 
Since the sword of Brennus clashed on the scales at Rome 
Listen, count and close again, wheeling girth to girth, 
In the linked and steadfast guard set for peace on earth! 

Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all 

By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul; 

Furious in luxury, merciless in toil, 

Terrible with strength renewed from a tireless soil; 

Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man's mind, 

First to face the Truth and last to leave old Truths behind — 

France, beloved of every soul that loves or serves its kind ! 



-BEFORE A iMIDNIGHT BREAKS IN STORM' 

i 903 

I5EFORE a midnight breaks in storm, 

Or herded sea in wrath, 
Ye know what wavering gusts inform 
The greater tempest's path? 
Till the loosed wind 
Drive all from mind, 



338 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Except Distress, which, so will prophets cry, 
O'ercame them, houseless, from the unhinting*sky 

Ere rivers league against the land 

In piratry of flood, 
Ye know what waters steal and stand 
Where seldom water stood. 
Yet who will note, 
Till fields afloat, 
And washen carcass and the returning well, 
Trumpet what these poor heralds strove to tell? 

Ye know who use the Crystal Ball 

(To peer by stealth on Doom), 
The Shade that, shaping first of all, 
Prepares an empty room. 
Then doth It pass 
Like breath from glass, 
But, on the extorted vision bowed intent, 
No man considers why It came or went. 

Before the years reborn behold 

Themselves with stranger eye, 
And the sport-making Gods of old, 
Like Samson slaying, die, 
Many shall hear 
The all-pregnant sphere, 
Bow to the birth and sweat, but — speech denied— 
Sit dumb or — dealt in part — fall weak and wide. 

Yet instant to fore-shadowed need 

The eternal balance swings; 
That winged men the Fates may breed 
So soon as Fate hath wings. 
These shall possess 
Our littleness, 
And in the imperial task (as worthy) lay 
Up our lives' all to piece one giant Day. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 339 

THE BELL BUOY 

1896 

'THEY christened my brother of old — 

And a saintly name he bears — 
They gave him his place to hold 

At the head of the belfry-stairs, 

Where the minster-towers stand 
And the breeding kestrels cry. 

Would I change with my brother a league inland? 
{Shoal! IV are shoal!) Not I ! 

In the Hush of the hot June prime, 

O'er sleek flood- tfdes afire, 
I hear him hurry the chime 

To the bidding of checked Desire; 

Till the sweated ringers tire 
And the wild bob-majors die. 

Could I wait for my turn in the godly choir? 
{Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I ! 

When the smoking scud is blown — 

When the greasy wind-rack lowers — 
Apart and at peace and alone, 

He counts the changeless hours. 

He wars with darkling Powers 
(I war with a darkling sea); 

Would he stoop to mv work in the gusty mirk? 
{Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not he! 

There was never a priest to pray, 

There was never a hand to toll, 
When they made me guard of the bay, 

And moored me over the shoal . 



34Q RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I rock, I reel, and I roll — 
My four great hammers ply — 

Could I speak or be still at the Church's will ? 
{Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I ! 

The landward marks have failed, 

The fog-bank glides unguessed, 
The seaward lights are veiled, 

The spent deep feigns her rest: 

But my ear is laid to her breast, 
I lift to the swell — I cry! 

Could I wait in sloth on the Church's oath? 
{Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I ! 

At the careless end of night 

I thrill to the nearing screw; 
I turn in the clearing light 

And I call to the drowsy crew; 

And the mud boils foul and blue 
As the blind bow backs away. 

Will they give me their thanks if thev clear the banks ? 
{Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not they ! 

The beach-pools cake and skim, 

The bursting spray-heads freeze, 
I gather on crown and rim 

The grey, grained ice of the seas, 

Where, sheathed from bitt to trees, 
The plunging colliers lie. 

Would I barter my place for the Church's grace? 
{Shoal ! 'Ware shoal !) Not I ! 

Through the blur ot the whirling snow, 

Or the black of the inky sleet, 
The lanterns gather and grow, 

And I look for the homeward fleet. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 341 

Rattle of block and sheet — 
* Ready about — stand by!" 

Shall I ask them a fee ere they fetch the quay? 
{Shoal ! 'Ware shoal /) Not I ! 

I dip and I surge and I swing 

In the rip of the racing tide, 
By the gates of doom I sing, 

On the horns of death I ride. 

A ship-length overside, 
Between the course and the sand, 

Fretted and bound I bide 
Peril whereof I cry. 

Would I change with my brother a league inland? 
{Shoal ! Ware shoal !) Not I ! 



THE OLD ISSUE 

October 9, 1899 

(Outbreak of Boer War) 

J-1ERE is nothing new nor aught un proven," say the Trum- 
pets^ 

"Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed. 
"It is the King — the King we schooled aforetime /" 

{Trumpets in the marshes — in the eyot at Runny mede /) 

''Here is neither haste, nor hate, nor anger," peal the Trumpets, 
" Pardon for his penitence or pity for his fall. 

"It is the King!" — inexorable Trumpets — 

{Trumpets round the scaffold at the dawning by Whitehall !) 



342 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"He hath veiled the Crown and hid the Sceptre" warn the Tru??i 
pets, 
"He hath changed the fashion of the lies that cloak his will. 
"Hard die the Kings — ah hard — dooms hard I" declare the 
Trumpets, 
Trumpets at the gang-plank where the brawling troop-decks 
fill! 

Ancient and Unteachable, abide — abide the Trumpets ! 

Once again the Trumpets, for the shuddering ground-swell 
brings 
Clamour over ocean of the harsh, pursuing Trumpets — 

Trumpets of the Vanguard that have sworn no truce with 
Kings ! 

All we have of freedom, all we use or know — 
This our fathers bought for us long and long ago. 

Ancient Right unnoticed as the breath we draw — 
Leave to live by no man's leave, underneath the Law. 

Lance and torch and tumult, steel and grey-goose wing 
Wrenched it, inch and ell and all, slowly from the King. 

Till our fathers 'stablished, after bloody years, 
How our King is one with us, first among his peers. 

So they bought us freedom — not at little cost — 
Wherefore must we watch the King, lest our gain be lost. 

Over all things certain, this is sure indeed, 
Suffer not the old King: for we know the breed. 

Give no ear to bondsmen bidding us endure. 

Whining "He is weak and far"; crying "Time shall cure." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 343 

(Time himself is witness, till the battle joins, 
Deeper strikes the rottenness in the people's loins.) 

Give no heed to bondsmen masking war with peace. 
Suffer not the old King here or overseas. 

They that beg us barter — wait his yielding mood — 
Pledge the years we hold in trust — pawn our brother's 
blood — 

Howso' great their clamour, whatsoe'er their claim, 
Suffer not the old King under any name! 

Here is naught unproven — here is naught to learn. 
It is written what shall fall if the King return. 

He shall mark our goings, question whence we came, 
Set his guards about us, as in Freedom's name. 

He shall take a tribute, toll of all our ware; 

He shall change our gold for arms — arms we may not bear. 

He shall break his Judges if they cross his word; 
He shall rule above the Law calling on the Lord. 

He shall peep and mutter; and the night shall bring 
Watchers 'neath our window, lest we mock the King- 
Hate and all division; hosts of hurrying spies; 
Money poured in secret, carrion breeding flies. 

Strangers of his counsel, hirelings of his pay, 
These shall deal our Justice: sell — deny — delay. 

We shall drink dishonour, we shall eat abuse 
For the Land we look to — for the Tongue we use. 



344 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We shall take our station, dirt beneath his feet, 
While his hired captains jeer us in the street. 

Cruel in the shadow, crafty in the sun, 

Far beyond his borders shall his teachings run. 

Sloven, sullen, savage, secret, uncontrolled, 
Laying on a new land evil of the old — 

Long-forgotten bondage, dwarfing heart and brain — 
All our fathers died to loose he shall bind again. 

Here is naught at venture ', random nor untrue — 
Swings the wheel full-circle, brims the cup anew. 

Here is naught unproven, here is nothing hid: 

Step for step and word for word — so the old Kings did ! 

Step by step, and word by word: who is ruled may read. 
Suffer not the old Kings: for we know the breed — 

All the right they promise — all the wrong they bring. 
Stewards of the Judgment, suffer not this King ! 



THE LESSON 

i 899-1 902 

{Boer War) 

J ET us admit it fairly, as a business people should, 

We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of 
good. 

Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain, 
But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and 
again, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 345 

Were all our most holy illusions knocked higher than Gilde- 

roy's kite. 
We have had a jolly good lesson, and it serves us jolly well 

right! 

This was not bestowed us under the trees, nor yet in the shade 
of a tent, 

But swingingly, over eleven degrees of a bare brown conti- 
nent. 

From Lamberts to Delagoa Bay, and from Pietersburg to 
Sutherland, 

Fell the phenomenal lesson we learned — with a fulness ac- 
corded no other land. 

It was our fault, and our very great fault, and not the judg- 
ment of Heaven. 

We made an Army in our own image, on an island nine by 
seven, 

Which faithfully mirrored its makers' ideals, equipment, and 
mental attitude — 

And so we got our lesson: and we ought to accept it with 
gratitude. 

We have spent two hundred million pounds to prove the fact 

once more, 
That horses are quicker than men afoot, since two and two 

make four; 
And horses have four legs, and men have two legs, and two 

into four goes twice, 
And nothing over except our lesson — and very cheap at the 

price. 

For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near 

for that knowledge) 
Not our mere astonied camps, but Council and Creed and 

College — 



346 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

All the obese, unchallenged old things that stifle and overlie 

us — 
Have felt the effects of the lesson we got — an advantage no 

money could buy us! 

Then let us develop this marvellous asset which we alone 

command, 
And which, it may subsequently transpire, will be worth as 

much as the Rand. 
Let us approach this pivotal fact in a humble yet hopeful 

mood — 
We have had no end of a lesson, it will do us no end of good! 

It was our fault, and our very great fault — and now we must 

turn it to use. 
We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single 

excuse. 
So the more we work and the less we talk the better results 

we shall get — 
We have had an Imperial lesson; it may make us an Empire 

yet! 



MESOPOTAMIA 

i 9 i 7 

T^HEY shall not return to us, the resolute, the young 

The eager and whole-hearted whom we gave: 
But the men who left them thriftily to die in their own dung, 
Shall they come with years and honour to the grave? 

They shall not return to us, the strong men coldly slain 

In sight of help denied from day to day: 
But the men who edged their agonies and chid them in their 
pain, 

Are they too strong and wise to put away? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 547 

Our dead shall not return to us while Day and Night divide — 

Never while the bars of sunset hold. 
But the idle-minded overlings who quibbled while they died, 

Shall they thrust for high employments as of old? 

Shall we only threaten and be angry for an hour? 

When the storm is ended shall we find 
How softly but how swiftly they have sidled back to power 

By the favour and contrivance of their kind? 

Even while they soothe us, while they promise large amends, 

Even while they make a show of fear, 
Do they call upon their debtors, and take council with their 
friends, 

To confirm and re-establish each career? 

Their lives cannot repay us — their death could not undo — 
The shame that they have laid upon our race. 

But the slothfulness that wasted and the arrogance that slew, 
Shall we leave it unabated in its place? 



THE ISLANDERS 

1902 



N' 



DOUBT but ye are the People — your throne is above the 
Kings. 

Whoso speaks in your presence must say acceptable things: 
Bowing the head in worships bending the knee in fear — 
Bringing the word well smoothen — such as a King should hear. 

Fenced by your careful fathers, ringed by your leaden seas, 
Long did ye wake in quiet and long lie down at ease; 



348 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Till ye said of Strife, "What is it?" of the Sword, "It is far 

from our ken"; 
Till ye made a sport of your shrunken hosts and a toy of your 

armed men. 
Ye stopped your ears to the warning — ye would neither look 

nor heed — 
Ye set your leisure before their toil and your lusts above their 

need. 
Because of your witless learning and your beasts of warren 

and chase, 
Ye grudged your sons to their service and your fields for their 

camping-place. 
Ye forced them to glean in the highways the straw for the 

bricks they brought; 
Ye forced them follow in byways the craft that ye never 

taught. 
Ye hindered and hampered and crippled; ye thrust out of 

sight and away 
Those that would serve you for honour and those that served 

you for pay. 
Then were the judgments loosened; then was your shame 

revealed, 
At the hands of a little people, few but apt in the field. 
Yet ye were saved by a remnant (and your land's long-surTer- 

ing star), 
When your strong men cheered in their millions while your 

striplings went to the war. 
Sons of the sheltered city — unmade, unhandled, unmeet — 
Ye pushed them raw to the battle as ye picked them raw from 

the street. 
And what did ye look they should compass? Warcraft 

learned in a breath, 
Knowledge unto occasion at the first far view of Death? 
So ? And ye train your horses and the dogs ye feed and prize ? 
How are the beasts more worthy than the souls, your sacrifice ? 
But ye said, "Their valour shall show them"; but ye said, 

"The end is close." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 349 

And ye sent them comfits and pictures to help them harry 

your foes: 
And ye vaunted your fathomless power, and ye flaunted 

your iron pride, 
Ere — ye fawned on the Younger Nations for the men who 

could shoot and ride! 
Then ye returned to your trinkets; then ye contented your 

souls 
With the flannelled fools at the wicket or the muddied oafs at 

the goals. 
Given to strong delusion, wholly believing a lie, 
Ye saw that the land lay fenceless, and ye let the months go 

. . b y 

Waiting some easy wonder, hoping some saving sign — 

Idle — openly idle — in the lee of the forespent Line. 

Idle — except for your boasting — and what is your boasting 

worth 
If ye grudge a year of service to the lordliest life on earth? 
Ancient, effortless, ordered, cycle on cycle set, 
Life so long untroubled, that ye who inherit forget 
It was not made with the mountains, it is not one with the 

deep. 
Men, not gods, devised it. Men, not gods, must keep. 
Men, not children, servants, or kinsfolk called from afar, 
But each man born in the Island broke to the matter of war. 
Soberly and by custom taken and trained for the same, 
Each man born in the Island entered at youth to the game — ■ 
As it were almost cricket, not to be mastered in haste, 
But after trial and labour, by temperance, living chaste. 
As it were almost cricket — as it were even your play, 
Weighed and pondered and worshipped, and practised day 

and day. 
So ye shall bide sure-guarded when the restless lightnings 

wake 
In the womb of the blotting war-cloud, and the pallid nations 

quake. 
So, at the haggard trumpets, instant your soul shall leap 



jy 



RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



Forthright, accoutred, accepting — alert from the wells of 

sleep. 
So at the threat ye shall summon — so at the need ye shall 

send 
Men, not children or servants, tempered and taught to the 

end; 
Cleansed of servile panic, slow to dread or despise, 
Humble because of knowledge, mighty by sacrifice. . . . 
But ye say, "It will mar our comfort." Ye say, "It will 

minish our trade." 
Do ye wait for the spattered shrapnel ere ye learn how a gun 

is laid? 
For the low, red glare to southward when the raided coast- 
towns burn? 
(Light ye shall have on that lesson, but little time to learn.) 
Will ye pitch some white pavilion, and lustily even the odds, 
With nets and hoops and mallets, with rackets and bats and 

rods? 
W 7 ill the rabbit war with your foemen — the red deer horn 

them for hire ? 
Your kept cock-pheasant keep you? — he is master of many 

a shire. 
Arid, aloof, incurious, unthinking, unthanking, gelt, 
Will ye loose your schools to flout them till their brow-beat 

columns melt? 
Will ye pray them or preach them, or print them, or ballot 

them back from your shore? 
Will your workmen issue a mandate to bid them strike no 

more? 
Will ye rise and dethrone your rulers? (Because ve were idle 

both? 
Pride by Insolence chastened? Indolence purged by Sloth?) 
No doubt but ye are the People; who shall make you afraid? 
Also your gods are many; no doubt but your gods shall aid. 
Idols of greasy altars built for the body's ease; 
Proud little brazen Baals and talking fetishes; 
Teraphs of sept and party and wise wood-pavement gods - 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 351 

These shall come down to the battle and snatch you from 

under the rods? 
From the gusty, flickering gun-roll with viewless salvoes rent, 
And the pitted hail of the bullets that tell not whence they 

were sent. 
When ye are ringed as with iron, when ye are scourged as 

with whips, 
When the meat is yet in your belly, and the boast is yet on 

your lips; 
When ye go forth at morning and the noon beholds you broke, 
Ere ye lie down at even, your remnant, under the yoke? 



No doubt but ye are the People — absolute, strong, and wise; 
Whatever your heart has desired ye have not withheld from your 

eyes. 
On your own heads, in your own hands, the sin and the saving 

lies ! 



THE VETERANS 

('Written for the gathering of survivors of the Indian Mutiny, Albert Hall, 

1907.) 

T^O-DAY, across our fathers' graves, 

The astonished years reveal 
The remnant of that desperate host 
Which cleansed our East with steel. 



Hail and farewell! We greet you here, 
With tears that none will scorn — 

O Keepers of the House of old, 
Or ever we were born ! 



352 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

One service more we dare to ask — 
Pray for us, heroes, pray, 

That when Fate lays on us our task 
We do not shame the Day! 



THE DYKES 

1902 

W/'E HAVE no heart for the fishing, we have no hand for 

the oar — 
All that our fathers taught us of old pleases us now no more; 
All that our own hearts bid us believe we doubt where we do 

not deny — 
There is no proof in the bread we eat or rest in the toil we ply. 

Look you, our foreshore stretches far through sea-gate, dyke, 

and groin — 
Made land all, that our fathers made, where the flats and the 

fairway join. 
They forced the sea a sea-league back. They died, and their 

work stood fast. 
We were born to peace in the lee of the dykes, but the time 

of our peace is past. 

Far off, the full tide clambers and slips, mouthing and testing 
all, 

Nipping the flanks of the water-gates, baying along the wall; 

Turning the shingle, returning the shingle, changing the set 
of the sand . . . 

We are too far from the beach, men say, to know how the out- 
works stand. 

So we come down, uneasy, to look, uneasily pacing the beach. 
These are the dykes our fathers made: we have never known 
a breach. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 353 

Time and again has the gale blown by and we were not afraid; 
Now we come only to look at the dykes — at the dykes our 
fathers made. 

O'er the marsh where the homesteads cower apart the har- 
ried sunlight flies, 

Shifts and considers, wanes and recovers, scatters and sickens 
and dies — 

An evil ember bedded in ash — a spark blown west by the 
wind . . . 

We are surrendered to night and the sea — the gale and the 
tide behind! 

At the bridge of the lower saltings the cattle gather and blare, 
Roused by the feet of running men, dazed by the lantern 

glare. 
Unbar and let them away for their lives — the levels drown as 

they stand, 
Where the flood-wash forces the sluices aback and the ditches 

deliver inland. 

Ninefold deep to the top of the dykes the galloping breakers 

stride, 
And their overcarried spray is a sea — a sea on the landward 

side. 
Coming, like stallions they paw with their hooves, going they 

snatch with their teeth, 
Till the bents and the furze and the sand are dragged out, 

and the old-time hurdles beneath. 

Bid men gather fuel for fire, the tar, the oil and the tow — 
Flame we shall need, not smoke, in the dark if the riddled 

sea-banks go. 
Bid the ringers watch in the tower (who knows how the dawn 

shall prove?) 
Each with his rope between his feet and the trembling bells 

above. 



354 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Now we can only wait till the day, wait and apportion our 

shame. 
These are the dykes our fathers left, but we would not look 

to the same. 
Time and again were we warned of the dykes, time and again 

we delayed: 
Now, it may fall, we have slain our sons, as our fathers we 

have betraved. 



Walking along the wreck of the dykes, watching the work of 

the seas! 
These were the dykes our fathers made to our great profit 

and ease. 
But the peace is gone and the profit is gone, with the old sure 

days withdrawn . . . 
That our own houses show as strange when we come back in 

the dawn ! 



THE DECLARATION OF LONDON 

June 29, 1911 

("On the re-assembling of Parliament after the Coronation, the Government 
have no intention of allowing their followers to vote according to their 
convictions on the Declaration of London, but insist on a strictly party 
vote." — Daily Papers.) 

\\7"E were all one heart and one race 
When the Abbey trumpets blew. 
For a moment's breathing-space 

We had forgotten you. 
Now you return to your honoured place 

Panting to shame us anew. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 35 

We have walked with the Ages dead — 

With our Past alive and ablaze. 
And you bid us pawn our honour for bread, 

This day of all the days! 
And you cannot wait till our guests are sped, 

Or last week's wreath decays? 

The light is still in our eyes 

Of Faith and Gentlehood, 
Of Service and Sacrifice; 

And it does not match our mood, 
To turn so soon to your treacheries 

That starve our land of her food. 

Our ears still carry the sound 

Of our once-Imperial seas, 
Exultant after our King was crowned, 

Beneath the sun and the breeze. 
It is too early to have them bound 

Or sold at your decrees. 

Wait till the memory goes, 

Wait till the visions fade, 
We may betray in time, God knows, 

But we would not have it said, 
When you make report to our scornful foes, 

That we kissed as we betrayed! 



THE WAGE-SLAVES 

1902 

QH GLORIOUS are the guarded heights 

Where guardian souls abide — 
Self-exiled from our gross delights — 
Above, beyond, outside: 



356 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

An ampler arc their spirit swings — 

Commands a juster view — 
We have their word for all these things, 

No doubt their words are true. 

Yet we, the bondslaves of our day, 

Whom dirt and danger press — 
Co-heirs of insolence, delay, 

And leagued unfaithfulness — 
Such is our need must seek indeed 

And, having found, engage 
The men who merely do the work 

For which they draw the wage. 

From forge and farm and mine and bench, 

Deck, altar, outpost lone — 
Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench, 

Rail, senate, sheepfold, throne — 
Creation's cry goes up on high 

From age to cheated age: 
"Send us the men who do the work 

"For which they draw the wage!" 

Words cannot help nor wit achieve, 

Nor e'en the all-gifted fool, 
Too weak to enter, bide, or leave 

The lists he cannot rule. 
Beneath the sun we count on none 

Our evil to assuage, 
Except the men that do the work 

For which they draw the wage. 

When through the Gates of Stress and Strain 

Comes forth the vast Event — 
The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane 

Result of labour spent — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 357 

They that have wrought the end un thought 

Be neither saint nor sage, 
But only men who did the work 

For which they drew the wage. 

Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend 

(And all old idle things — ) 
Wherefore on these shall Power attend 

Beyond the grip of kings: 
Each in his place, by right, not grace, 

Shall rule his heritage — 
The men who simply do the work 

For which they draw the wage. 

Not such as scorn the loitering street, 

Or waste to earn its praise, 
Their noontide's unreturning heat 

About their morning ways; 
But such as dower each mortgaged hour 

Alike with clean courage — 
Even the men who do the work 

For which they draw the wage — 
Men, like to Gods, that do the work 

For which they draw the wage — 
Begin — continue — close that work 

For which they draw the wage ! 



THE SONG OF THE LATHES 

1 9 1 8 

(Being the words of the tune hummed at her lathe by Mrs. L. Embsay, widow.) 

HPHE fans and the beltings they roar round me. 

The power is shaking the floor round me 
Till the lathes pick up their duty and the midnight-shift 
takes over. 

It is good for me to be here! 






358 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Guns in Flanders — Flanders guns ! 
(I had a man that worked 'em once !) 
Shells /or guns in Flanders, Flanders ! 
Shells for guns in Flanders, Flanders ! 

Shells for guns in Flanders ! Feed the guns ! 



The cranes and the carriers they boom over me, 
The bays and the galleries they loom over me, 
With their quarter-mile of pillars growing little in the 
distance — 

It is good for me to be here! 



The Zeppelins and Gothas they raid over us. 
Our lights give warning, and fade over us. 
(Seven thousand women keeping quiet in the darkness!) 
Oh, it's good for me to be here! 



The roofs and the buildings they grow round rne, 
Eating up the fields I used to know round me; 
And the shed that I began in is a sub-inspector's office- 
So long have I been here! 



I've seen six hundred mornings make our lamps grow dim, 
Through the bit that isn't painted round our sky-light rim, 
And the sunshine through the window slope according to 
the seasons, 

Twice since I've been here. 



The trains on the sidings they call to us 
With the hundred thousand blanks that they haul to us; 
And we send 'em what we've finished, and they take it 
where it's wanted, 

For that is why we are here ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 359 

Man's hate passes as his love will pass. 
God made woman what she always was. 
Them that bear the burden they will never grant forgiveness 
So long as they are here! 



Once I was a woman, but that's by with me. 
All I loved and looked for, it must die with me; 
Rut the Lord has left me over for a servant of the Judgment. 
And I serve His Judgments here! 



Guns in Flanders — Flanders guns ! 
(I had a son that worked 'em once I) 
Shells for guns in Flanders ', Flanders ! 
Shells for guns in Flanders y Flanders ! 

Shells for guns in Flanders ! Feed the guns ! 



RIMMON 

1 903 

F)ULY with knees that feign to quake- 
Bent head and shaded brow, — 
Yet once again, for my father's sake, 
In Rimmon's House I bow. 



The curtains part, the trumpet blares, 
And the eunuchs howl aloud; 

And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glares 
Insolent over the crowd. 



360 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

" This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth — 
"Fear Him and bow the knee! 

And I watch my comrades hide their mirth 
That rode to the wars with me. 



For we remember the sun and the sand 

And the rocks whereon we trod, 
Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful land 

That did not know our God; 

As we remember the sacrifice 

Dead men an hundred laid — 
Slain while they served His mysteries, 

And that He would not aid. 



Not though we gashed ourselves and wept, 
For the high-priest bade us wait; 

Saying He went on a journey or slept, 
Or was drunk or had taken a mate. 



{Praise ye Rimmon y King of Kings , 

Who ruleth Earth and Sky! 
And again I bow as the censer swings 

And the God Enthroned goes by.) 

Ay, we remember His sacred ark 
And the virtuous men that knelt 

To the dark and the hush behind the dark 
Wherein we dreamed He dwelt; 

Until we entered to hale Him out, 
And found no more than an old 

Uncleanly image girded about 
The loins with scarlet and gold. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 361 

Him we o'erset with the butts of our spears — 

Him and his vast designs — 
To be the scorn of our muleteers 

And the jest of our halted lines. 



By the picket-pins that the dogs defile, 
In the dung and the dust He lay, 

Till the priests ran and chattered awhile 
And wiped Him and took Him away. 



Hushing the matter before it was known, 
They returned to our fathers afar, 

And hastily set Him afresh on His throne 
Because he had won us the war. 



Wherefore with knees that feign to quake — 

Bent head and shaded brow — 
To this dead dog, for my father's sake, 

In Rimmon's House I bow! 



THE CITY OF BRASS" 



1909 

Here was a people whom after their works thou shalt see wept over for their 
lost dominion: and in this palace is the last information respecting lords col- 
lected in the dust. 

The Arabian Nights. 

TN A land that the sand overlays — the ways to her gates 

are untrod — 
A multitude ended their days whose fates were made splendid 
by God, 



362 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Till they grew drunk and were smitten with madness and went 

to their fall, 
And of these is a story written: but Allah Alone fawweth all! 



When the wine stirred in their heart their bosoms dilated, 
They rose to suppose themselves kings over all things 

created — 
To decree a new earth at a birth without labour or sorrow- 
To declare: "We prepare it to-day and inherit to-morrow/' 
They chose themselves prophets and priests of minutt 

understanding, 
Men swift to see done, and outrun, their extremest com- 
manding — 
Of the tribe which describe with a jibe the perversions of 

Justice — 
Panders avowed to the crowd whatsoever its lust is. 



Swiftly these pulled down the walls that their fathers had 

made them — 
The impregnable ramparts of old, they razed and relaid them 
As playgrounds of pleasure and leisure with limitless entries, 
And havens of rest for the wastrels where once walked the 

sentries; 
And because there was need of more pay for the shouters and 

marchers, 
They disbanded in face of their foemen their yeomen and 

archers. 



They replied to their well-wishers' fears — to their enemies' 
laughter, 

Saying: "Peace! We have fashioned a God Which shall 
save us hereafter. 

We ascribe all dominion to man in his factions conferring, 

And have given to numbers the Name of the Wisdom un- 
erring." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 363 

They said: "Who has hate in his soul? Who has envied his 

neighbour? 
Let him arise and control both that man and his labour/' 
They said: "Who is eaten by sloth? Whose un thrift has 

destroyed him? 
He shall levy a tribute from all because none have employed 

him." 
They said: "Who hath toiled, who hath striven, and 

gathered possession? 
Let him be spoiled. He hath given full proof of transgres- 
sion." 
They said: "Who is irked by the Law? Though we may not 

remove it, 
If he lend us his aid in this raid, we will set him above it /" 
So the robber did judgment again upon such as displeased 

him, 
The slayer, too, boasted his slain, and the judges released 

him. 



As for their kinsmen far off, on the skirts of the nation, 
They harried all earth to make sure none escaped reprobation, 
They awakened unrest for a jest in their newly-won borders, 
And jeered at the blood of their brethren betrayed by their 

orders. 
They instructed the ruled to rebel, their rulers to aid them; 
And, since such as obeyed them not fell, their Viceroys obeyed 

them. 
When the riotous set them at naught they said: "Praise the 

upheaval ! 
For the show and the word and the thought of Dominion is 

evil!" 

They unwound and flung from them with rage, as a rag that 

denied them 
The imperial gains of the age which their forefathers piled 

them. 



364 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They ran panting in haste to lay waste and embitter for ever 
The wellsprings of Wisdom and Strength which are Faith 

and Endeavour. 
They nosed out and digged up and dragged forth and exposed 

to derision 
All doctrine of purpose and worth and restraint and prevision: 

And it ceased, and God granted them all things for which they 

had striven, 
And the heart of a beast in the place of a man's heart was 

given. . . . 



When they were fullest of wine and most flagrant in error, 

Out of the sea rose a sign — out of Heaven a terror. 

Then they saw, then they heard, then they knew — for none 

troubled to hide it, 
An host had prepared their destruction, but still they denied it. 
They denied what they dared not abide if it came to the trial, 
But the Sword that was forged while they lied did not heed 

their denial. 
It drove home, and no time was allowed to the crowd that was 

driven. 
The preposterous-minded were cowed — they thought time 

would be given. 
There was no need of a steed nor a lance to pursue them; 
It was decreed their own deed, and not chance, should undo 

them. 
The tares they had laughingly sown were ripe to the reaping. 
The trust they had leagued to disown was removed from their 

keeping. 
The eaters of other men's bread, the exempted from hardship, 
The excusers of impotence fled, abdicating their wardship, 
For the hate they had taught through the State brought the 

State no defender, 
And it passed from the roll of the Nations in headlong sur- 
render! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 365 



THE HYAENAS 



A™ 



'ER the burial-parties leave 
And the baffled kites have fled; 
The wise hyaenas come out at eve 
To take account of our dead. 

How he died and why he died 

Troubles them not a whit. 
They snout the bushes and stones aside 

And dig till they come to it. 

They are only resolute they shall eat 
That they and their mates may thrive, 

And they know that the dead are safer meat 
Than the weakest thing alive. 

(For a goat may butt, and a worm may sting, 
And a child will sometimes stand; 

But a poor dead soldier of the King 
Can never lift a hand.) 

They whoop and halloo and scatter the dirt 

Until their tushes white 
Take good hold in the army shirt, 

And tug the corpse to light, 

And the pitiful face is shewn again 

For an instant ere they close; 
But it is not discovered to living men — 

Only to God and to those 

Who, being soulless, are free from shame, 

Whatever meat they may find. 
Nor do they defile the dead man's name — 

That is reserved for his kind. 



366 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE REFORMERS 

1901 

NOT in the camp his victory lies 

Or triumph in the market-place ', 
Who is his Nation s sacrifice 

To turn the judgment from his race. 

Happy is he who, bred and taught 
By sleek, sufficing Circumstance — 

Whose Gospel was the apparelled thought, 
Whose Gods were Luxury and Chance- 



Sees, on the threshold of his days, 
The old life shrivel like a scroll, 

And to unheralded dismays 
Submits his body and his soul; 

The fatted shows wherein he stood 
Foregoing, and the idiot pride, 

That he may prove with his own blood 
All that his easy sires denied — 

Ultimate issues, primal springs, 
Demands, abasements, penalties — 

The imperishable plinth of things 

Seen and unseen, that touch our peace. 

For, though ensnaring ritual dim 
His vision through the after-years 3 

Yet virtue shall go out of him — 
Example profiting his peers. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 367 

With great things charged he shall not hold 

Aloof till great occasion rise, 
But serve, full-harnessed, as of old, 

The Days that are the Destinies. 

He shall forswear and put away 
The idols of his sheltered house; 

And to Necessity shall pay 

Unflinching tribute of his vows. 

He shall not plead another's act, 

Nor bind him in another's oath 
To weigh the Word above the Fact, 

Or make or take excuse for sloth. 

The yoke he bore shall press him still, 

And, long-ingrained effort goad 
To find, to fashion, and fulfil 

The cleaner life, the sterner code. 

Not in the camp his victory lies — 

The world {unheeding his return) 
Shall see it in his children s eyes 

And from his grandson s lips shall learn ! 



THE COVENANT 

1 9 1 4 

\\f E thought we ranked above the chance of ill. 

Others might fall, not we, for we were wise- 
Merchants in freedom. So, of our free-will 

We let our servants drug our strength with lies. 



368 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The pleasure and the poison had its way 

On us as on the meanest, till we learned 
That he who lies will steal, who steals will slay. 

Neither God's judgment nor man's heart was turned. 

Yet there remains His Mercy — to be sought 

Through wrath and peril till we cleanse the wrong 

By that last right which our forefathers claimed 

When their Law failed them and its stewards were bought. 

This is our cause. God help us, and make strong 

Our will to meet Him later, unashamed! 



THE OLD MEN 
1902 

r T*HIS is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end — 
That we outlive the impatient years and the much too 
patient friend: 
And because we know we have breath in our mouth and think 

we have thoughts in our head, 
We shall assume that we are alive, whereas we are really dead. 

We shall not acknowledge that old stars fade or brighter 

planets arise 
(That the sere bush buds or the desert blooms or the ancient 

well-head dries), 
Or any new compass wherewith new men adventure 'neath 

new skies. 

We shall lift up the ropes that constrained our youth, to bind 

on our children's hands; 
We shall call to the water below the bridges to return and 

replenish our lands; 
We shall harness horses (Death's own pale horses) and 

scholarly plough the sands. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 369 

We shall lie down in the eye of the sun for lack of a light on 

our way — 
We shall rise up when the day is done and chirrup, "Behold, 

it is day!" 
We shall abide till the battle is won ere we amble into the 

fray. 

W T e shall peck out and discuss and dissect, and evert and ex- 
trude to our mind, 

The flaccid tissues of long-dead issues offensive to God and 
mankind — 

(Precisely like vultures over an ox that the Army has left 
behind). 

"We shall make walk preposterous ghosts of the glories we once 
created — 

Immodestly smearing from muddled palettes amazing pig- 
ments mismated — 

And our friends will weep when we ask them v/ith boasts if 
our natural force be abated. 

The Lamp of our Youth will be utterly out, but we shall 

subsist on the smell of it; 
And whatever we do, we shall fold our hands and suck our 

gums and think well of it. 
Yes, we shall be perfectly pleased with our work, and that 

is the Perfectest Hell of it ! 

This is our lot if we live so long and listen to those who love 

us — 
That we are shunned by the people about and shamed by the 

Powers above us. 
Wherefore be free of your harness betimes; but, being free, be 

assured, 
That he who hath not endured to the death, from his birth he 

hath n ever endured ! 



37© RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE OUTLAWS 

i 9 i 4 

HpHROUGH learned and laborious years 

They set themselves to find 
Fresh terrors and undreamed-of fears 
To heap upon mankind. 

All that they drew from Heaven above 
Or digged from earth beneath, 

They laid into their treasure-trove 
And arsenals of death: 

While, for well-weighed advantage sake, 

Ruler and ruled alike 
Built up the faith they meant to break 

When the fit hour should strike. 

They traded with the careless earth, 

And good return it gave: 
They plotted by their neighbour's hearth 

The means to make him slave. 

When all was ready to their hand 
They loosed their hidden sword, 

And utterly laid waste a land 
Their oath was pledged to guard. 

Coldly they went about to raise 
To life and make more dread 

Abominations of old days, 

That men believed were dead. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 37 r 

They paid the price to reach their goal 

Across a world in flame; 
But their own hate slew their own soul 

Before that victory came. 



THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN 

1899 

*T*AKE up the White Man's burden- 
Send forth the best ye breed — 
Go bind your sons to exile 

To serve your captives' need; 
To wait in heavy harness, 

On fluttered folk and wild — 
Your new-caught, sullen peoples, 

Half-devil and half-child. 

Take up the White Man's Burden — 

In patience to abide, 
To veil the threat of terror 

And check the show of pride; 
By open speech and simple, 

An hundred times made plain, 
To seek another's profit, 

And work another's gain. 

Take up the White Man's burden— 

The savage wars of peace — 
Fill full the mouth of Famine 

And bid the sickness cease; 
And when your goal is nearest 

The end for others sought, 
Watch Sloth and heathen Folly 

Bring all your hope to nought 



372 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Take up the White Man's burden — 

No tawdry rule of kings, 
But toil of serf and sweeper — 

The tale of common things. 
The ports ye shall not enter, 

The roads ye shall not tread, 
Go make them with your living, 

And mark them with your dead. 



Take up the White Man's burden — 

And reap his old reward: 
The blame of those ye better, 

The hate of those ye guard — 
The cry of hosts ye humour 

(Ah, slowly!) toward the light: — 
"Why brought ye us from bondage, 

"Our loved Egyptian night?" 

Take up the White Man's burden — 

Ye dare not stoop to less — 
Nor call too loud on Freedom 

To cloak your weariness; 
By all ye cry or whisper, 

By all ye leave or do, 
The silent, sullen peoples 

Shall weigh your Gods and you. 

Take up the White Man's burden — 

Have done with childish days — 
The lightly proffered laurel, 

The easy, ungrudged praise. 
Comes now, to search your manhood 

Through all the thankless years, 
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom, 

The judgment of your peers! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 373 

HYMN BEFORE ACTION 

1896 

HpHE earth is full of anger, 

The seas are dark with wrath, 
The Nations in their harness 

Go up against our path: 
Ere yet we loose the legions — 

Ere yet we draw the blade, 
Jehovah of the Thunders, 

Lord God of Battles, aid! 

High lust and forward bearing, 

Proud heart, rebellious brow — 
Deaf ear and soul uncaring, 

We seek Thy mercy now! 
The sinner that forswore Thee, 

The fool that passed Thee by, 
Our times are known before Thee — 

Lord, grant us strength to die! 

For those who kneel beside us 

At altars not Thine own, 
Who lack the lights that guide us, 

Lord, let their faith atone! 
If wrong we did to call them, 

By honour bound they came; 
Let not Thy Wrath befall them, 

But deal to us the blame. 

From panic, pride, and terror, 

Revenge that knows no rein, 
Light haste and lawless error, 

Protect us yet again. 



374 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Cloke Thou our undeserving, 

Make firm the shuddering breath, 

In silence and unswerving 
To taste Thy lesser death ! 

Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow, 

Remember, reach and save 
The soul that comes to-morrow 

Before the God that gave! 
Since each was born of woman, 

For each at utter need — 
True comrade and true foeman — 

Madonna, intercede! 

E'en now their vanguard gathers, 

E'en now we face the fray — 
As Thou didst help our fathers, 

Help Thou our host to-day. 
Fulfilled of signs and wonders, 

In life, in death made clear — 
Jehovah of the Thunders, 

Lord God of Battles, hear! 



A SONG AT COCK-CROW 

i 9 i 8 

"Ille autem iterum negavif." 

PHE first time that Peter denied his Lord 

He shrank from the cudgel, the scourge and the cord, 
But followed far off to see what they would do, 
Till the cock crew — till the cock crew — 
After Gethsemane, till the cock crew! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 375 

The first time that Peter denied his Lord 

'Twas only a maid in the palace who heard, 

As he sat by the fire and warmed himself through. 

Then the cock crew! Then the cock crew! 

("Thou also art one of them.") Then the cock crew! 

The first time that Peter denied his Lord 

He had neither the Throne, nor the Keys nor the Sword — 

A poor silly fisherman, what could he do, 

When the cock crew — when the cock crew — 

But weep for his wickedness when the cock crew ? 



The next time that Peter denied his Lord 

He was Fisher of Men, as foretold by the Word, 

With the Crown on his brow and the Cross on his shoe, 

When the cock crew — when the cock crew — 

In Flanders and Picardy when the cock crew! 

The next time that Peter denied his Lord 

'Twas Mary the Mother in Heaven W 7 ho heard, 

And She grieved for the maidens and wives that they slew 

When the cock crew — when the cock crew — 

At Tirmonde and Aerschott when the cock crew! 

The next time that Peter denied his Lord 
The Babe in the Manger awakened and stirred, 
And He stretched out His arms for the playmates 

He knew — 
When the cock crew — when the cock crew — 
But the waters had covered them when the cock crew! 

The next time that Peter denied his Lord 
'Twas Earth in her agony waited his word, 
But he sat by the fire and naught would he do, 
Though the cock crew — though the cock crew — 
Over all Christendom^ though the cock crew ! 



376 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The last time that Peter denied his Lord, 
The Father took from him the Keys and the Sword, 
And the Mother and Babe brake his Kingdom in two, 
When the cock crew — when the cock crew — 
{Because of his wickedness) when the cock crew! 



THE QUESTION 

i 9 i 6 

gRETHREN, how shall it fare with me 

When the war is laid aside, 
If it be proven that I am he 
For whom a world has died ? 

If it be proven that all my good, 

And the greater good I will make, 
Were purchased me by a multitude 

Who suffered for my sake ? 

That I was delivered by mere mankind 

Vowed to one sacrifice, 
And not, as I hold them, battle-blind, 

But dying with open eyes? 

That they did not ask me to draw the sword 
When they stood to endure their lot — 

That they only looked to me for a word, 
And I answered I knew them not? 

If it be found, when the battle clears, 

Their death has set me free, 
Then how shall I live with myself through the years 

Which they have bought for me ? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 377 

Brethren, how must it fare with me, 

Or how am I justified, 
If it be proven that I am he 

For whom mankind has died — 
If it be proven that I am he 

Who, being questioned, denied? 



G 



RECESSIONAL 

1 897 

[OD of our fathers, known of old, 
Lord of our far-flung battle-line, 
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold 

Dominion over palm and pine — 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 



The tumult and the shouting dies; 

The Captains and the Kings depart: 
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, 

An humble and a contrite heart. 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget— lest we forget! 



Far-called, our navies melt away; 

On dune and headland sinks the fire: 
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 



37$ RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, 

Such boastings as the Gentiles use, 
Or lesser breeds without the Law — 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard, 

All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, 

For frantic boast and foolish word — 

Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord ! 



"FOR ALL WE HAVE AND ARE" 

i 9 i 4 

U* OR all we have and are, 

For all our children's fate, 

Stand up and take the war. 

The Hun is at the gate! 

Our world has passed away 

In wantonness o'erthrown. 

There is nothing left to-day 

But steel and fire and stone! 

Though all we knew depart, 
The old Commandments stand: — 
"In courage keep your heart, 
In strength lift up your hand.'* 

Once more we hear the word 
That sickened earth of old: — 
"No law except the Sword 
Unsheathed and uncontrolled." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 379 

Once more it knits mankind, 
Once more the nations go 
To meet and break and bind 
A crazed and driven foe. 

Comfort, content, delight, 

The ages' slow-bought gain, 

They shrivelled in a night. 

Only ourselves remain 

To face the naked days 

In silent fortitude, 

Through perils and dismays 

Renewed and re-renewed. 

Though all we made depart, 
The old Commandments stand: — 
"In patience keep your heart, 
In strength lift up your hand." 

No easy hope or lies 
Shall bring us to our goal, 
But iron sacrifice 
Of body, will, and soul. 
There is but one task for all — 
One life for each to give. 
What stands if Freedom fall? 
Who dies if England live? 



THE THREE-DECKER 

1 8 94 

" The three-volume novel is extinct." 

"PULL thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail. 

It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail 
But, spite all modern notions, I've found her first and best — 
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest. 



3 8o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Fair held the breeze behind us — 'twas warm with lovers' 
prayers. 

We'd stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs. 

They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse con- 
fessed, 

And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the 
Blest. 

By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of cook, 
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took 
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed, 
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest. 

We asked no social questions — we pumped no hidden shame — 
We never talked obstetrics when the Little Stranger came: 
We left the Lord in Heaven, we left the fiends in Hell. 
We weren't exactly Yussufs, but — Zuleika didn't tell. 

No moral doubt assailed us, so when the port we neared, 
The villain had his flogging at the gangway, and we cheered. 
'Twas fiddle in the foc's'le — 'twas garlands on the mast, 
For every one got married, and I went ashore at last. 

I left 'em all in couples akissing on the decks. 

I left the lovers loving and the parents signing cheques. 

In endless English comfort, by county-folk caressed, 

I left the old three-decker at the Islands of the Blest! . . . 

That route is barred to steamers: you'll never lift again 
Our purple-painted headlands or the lordly keeps of Spain. 
They're just beyond your skyline, howe'er so far you cruise 
In a ram-you-damn-you liner with a brace of bucking screws. 

Swing round your aching search-light — 'twill show no haven's 

peace. 
Ay, blow your shrieking sirens at the deaf, grey-bearded seas! 
Boom out the dripping oil-bags to skin the deep's unrest — 
And you aren't one knot the nearer to the Islands of the Blest! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 381 

But when you're threshing, crippled, with broken bridge and 

rail, 
At a drogue of dead convictions to hold you head to gale, 
Calm as the Flying Dutchman, from truck to taffrail dressed, 
You'll see the old three-decker for the Islands of the Blest. 

You'll see her tiering canvas in sheeted silver spread; 
You'll hear the long-drawn thunder 'neath her leaping figure- 
head; 
While far, so far above you, her tall poop-lanterns shine 
Un vexed by wind or weather like the candles round a shrine ! 

Hull down — hull down and under — she dwindles to a speck, 
With noise of pleasant music and dancing on her deck. 
All's well — all's well aboard her — she's left you far behind, 
With a scent of old-world roses through the fog that ties you 
blind. 

Her crews are babes or madmen? Her port is all to make? 
You're manned by Truth and Science, and you steam for 

steaming's sake? 
Well, tinker up your engines — you know your business best — 
She's taking tired people to the Islands of the Blest! 



THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS 

1890 

[This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the notorious Paul Jones, 
an American pirate. It is founded on fact.] 



. . . A T THE close of a winter day, 

Their anchors down, by London town, the 
Three Great Captains lay; 
And one was Admiral of the North from Solway Firth to Skye, 
And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all the lands 
thereby, 



382 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse to Black- 
wall, 
And he was Chaplain of the Fleet — the bravest of them all. 
Their good guns guarded their great grey sides that were thirty 

foot in the sheer, 
When there came a certain trading brig with news of a priva- 
teer. 
Her rigging was rough with the clotted drift that drives in a 

Northern breeze, 
Her sides were clogged with the lazy weed that spawns in the 

Eastern seas. 
Light she rode in the rude tide-rip, to left and right she rolled, 
And the skipper sat on the scuttle-butt and stared at an empty 

hold. 
"I ha' paid Port dues for your Law," quoth he, "and where is 

the Law ye boast 
"If I sail unscathed from a heathen port to be robbed on a 

Christian coast? 
"Ye have smoked the hives of the Laccadives as we burn the 

lice in a bunk, 
"We tack not now for a Gallang prow or a plunging Pei-ho 

junk; 
"I had no fear but the seas were clear as far as a sail might 

fare 
"Till I met with a lime-washed Yankee brig that rode or? 

Finisterre. 
"There were canvas blinds to his bow-gun ports to screen the 

weight he bore, 
"And the signals ran for a merchantman from Sandy Hook 

to the Nore. 
"He would not fly the Rovers' flag — the bloody or the black, 
"But now he floated the Gridiron and now he flaunted the 

Jack. 
"He spoke of the Law as he crimped my crew — he swore 

it was only a loan; 
M But when I would ask for my own again, he swore it was 

none of mv own. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 383 

"He has taken my little parrakeetsthat nest beneath the Line, 
"He has stripped my rails of the shaddock-frails and the 

green unripened pine. 
"He has taken my bale of dammer and spice I won beyond 

the seas, 
"He has taken my grinning heathen gods — and what should 

he want o' these? 
"My foremast would not mend his boom, my deck-house 

patch his boats; 
"He has whittled the two, this Yank Yahoo, to peddle for 

shoe-peg oats. 
"I could not fight for the failing light and a rough beam-sea 

beside, 
"But I hulled him once for a clumsy crimp and twice because 

he lied. 
"Had I had guns (as I had goods) to work my Christian 

harm, 
"I had run him up from his quarter-deck to trade with his 

own yard-arm; 
"I had nailed his ears to my capstan-head, and ripped them 

off with a saw, 
"And soused them in the bilgewater, and served them to him 

raw; 
"I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat to rot in the rock- 
ing dark, 
"I had towed him aft of his own craft, a bait for his brother 

shark; 
"I had lapped him round with cocoa-husk, and drenched him 

with the oil, 
"And lashed him fast to his own mast to blaze above my 

spoil; 
"I had stripped his hide for my hammock-side, and tasselled 

his beard in the mesh, 
"'And spitted his crew on the live bamboo that grows through 

the gangrened flesh-, 
"I had hove him down by the mangroves brown, where the 

mud-reef sucks and draws, 



384 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

" Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait for the land-crab's 

claws. 
"He is lazar within and lime without; ye can nose him far 

enow, 
"For he carries the taint of a musky ship — the reek of the 

slaver's dhow." 
The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bulwarks tall 

and cold, 
And the Captains Three full courteously peered down at the 

gutted hold, 
And the Captains Three called courteously from deck to 

scuttle-butt: — 
"Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or ever your 

teeth were cut. 
"Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law it 

standeth thus: 
"He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he never has 

boarded us. 
"We ha* sold him canvas and rope and spar — we know that 

his price is fair, 
"And we know that he weeps for the lack of a Law as he rides 

off Finisterre. 
"And since he is damned for a gallows-thief by you and better 

than you, 
"We hold it meet that the English fleet should know that we 

hold him true." 
The skipper called to the tall taffrail: — "And what is that 

to me? 
"Did ever you hear of a Yankee brig that rifled a Seventy- 
three ? 
"Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I lift like a 

ship o' the Line? 
"He has learned to run from a shotted gun and harry such 

craft as mine. 
"There is never a law on the Cocos Keys, to hold a white 

man in, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 385 

" But we do not steal the niggers* meal, for that is a nigger's 
sin. 

"Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in brass on 
his wheel? 

"Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? 'Fore Gad, 
then, why does he steal?" 

The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it was not 
sweet, 

For he could see the Captains Three had signalled to the Fleet. 

But three and two, in white and blue, the whimpering flags 
began : — 

"We have heard a tale of a — foreign sail, but he is a mer- 
chantman." 

The skipper peered beneath his palm and swore by the Great 
Horn Spoon: — 

"'Fore Gad, the Chaplain of the Fleet would bless my pica- 
roon!" 

By two and three the flags blew free to lash the laughing 
air: — 

"We have sold our spars to the merchantmen — we know that 
his price is fair." 

The skipper winked his Western eye, and swore by a China 
storm : — 

"They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to keep his 
honour warm." 

The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting bellied 
. broad, 

The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for a wasted 
cord. 

Masthead — masthead, the signal sped by the line o' the Brit- 
ish craft: 

The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and put her about and 
laughed: — 

"It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all — we'll out to the seas 
again — 

"Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or scrub at his 
grapnel-chain. 



386 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, and the swing 

of the unbought brine — 
"We'll make no sport in ah English court till we come as a 

ship o' the Line: 
"Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, of thirty foot in 

the sheer, 
"Lifting again from the outer main with news of a privateer; 
"Flying his pluck at our mizzen-truck for weft of Admiralty, 
"Heaving his head for our dipsy-lead in sign that we keep 

the sea. 
"Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam — we stand on 

the outward tack, 
"We are paid in the coin of the white man's trade — the bezant 

is hard, ay, and black. 
"The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the Kling and the 

Orang-Laut 
"How a man may sail from a heathen coast to be robbed in a 

Christian port; 
"How a man may be robbed in Christian port while Three 

Great Captains there 
"Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag — to show that his trade 

is fair!" 



THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS 

1890 

XX/'HEN the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's 

green and gold, 
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a 

stick in the mould; 
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to 

his mighty heart, 
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but 

is it Art?" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 387 

Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion his work 

anew — 
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread 

review; 
And he left his lore to the use of his sons — and that was a 

glorious gain 
When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of the 

branded Cain. 



They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars 

apart, 
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is 

it Art?" 
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the idle derrick 

swung, 
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien 

tongue. 

They fought and they talked in the North and the South; 

they talked and they fought in the West, 
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay 

had rest — 
Had rest till that dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was 

preened to start, 
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it 

Art?" 



The tale is as old as the Eden Tree — and new as the new-cut 

tooth — 
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of 

Art and Truth; 
And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his 

dying heart, 
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was 

itArt?" 



388 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a 

surplice-peg, 
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an 

addled egg, 
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is 

drawn by the cart; 
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but 

is it Art?" 

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's 

green and gold, 
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens 

in the mould — 
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, and 

the ink and the anguish start, 
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it 

Art?" 

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great 

Rivers flow, 
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long 

ago, 
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry 

through, 
By the favour of God we might know as much — as our father 

Adam knew! 



EVARRA AND HIS GODS 

1890 

J^EAD here: 

This is the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
Because the city gave him of her gold, 
Because the caravans brought turquoises, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 389 

Because his life was sheltered by the King, 

So that no man should maim him, none should steal, 

Or break his rest with babble in the streets 

When he was weary after toil, he made 

An image of his God in gold and pearl, 

With turquoise diadem and human eyes, 

A wonder in the sunshine, known afar, 

And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride, 

Because the city bowed to him for God, 

He wrote above the shrine: " Thus Gods are made, 

"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 

And all the city praised him. . . . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
Because the city had no wealth to give, 
Because the caravans were spoiled afar, 
Because his life was threatened by the King, 
So that all men despised him in the streets, 
He hewed the living rock, with sweat and tears, 
And reared a God against the morning-gold, 
A terror in the sunshine, seen afar, 
And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with pride, 
Because the city fawned to bring him back, 
He carved upon the plinth: " Thus Gods are made, 
"And whoso makes the?n otherwise shall die. " 
And all the people praised him. . . . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra — man — 
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 

Because he lived among a simple folk, 

Because his village was between the hills, 

Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of ewes, 

He cut an idol from a fallen pine, 

Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell 

Above its brow for eye, and gave it hair 



390 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown. 

And all the village praised him for this craft, 

And brought him butter, honey, milk, and curds. 

Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him mad, 

He scratched upon that log: " Thus Gods are made, 

"'And whoso makes them otherwise shall die" 

And all the people praised him. . . . Then he died. 

Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 

Because his God decreed one clot of blood 

Should swerve one hair's-breadth from the pulse's path. 

And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone, 

Rag-wrapped, among the cattle in the fields, 

Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees, 

And mocking at the mist, until his God 

Drove him to labour. Out of dung and horns 

Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God, 

Uncleanly, shapeless, crowned with plantain tufts, 

And when the cattle lowed at twilight-time, 

He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds, 

And howled among the beasts: " Thus Gods are made, 

"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die" 

Thereat the cattle bellowed. . . . Then he died. 



Yet at the last he came to Paradise, 

And found his own four Gods, and that he wrote; 

And marvelled, being very near to God, 

What oaf on earth had made his toil God's law, 

Till God said mocking: "Mock not. These be thine.*' 

Then cried Evarra: "I have sinned!" "Not so, 

"If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods 

"Had rested in the mountain and the mine, 

"And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods, 

"And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. Thine, 

"Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine!" 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 391 

Thereat, with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes, 
Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 

This is the story of Evarra — man — 
Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 



THE BENEFACTORS 

A f H ! What avails the classic bent 
And what the cultured wo?"d i 
Against the undoctored incident 
That actually occurred ? 

And what is Art whereto we press 
Through paint and prose and rhymt 

When Nature in her nakedness 
Defeats us every time ? 

It is not learning, grace nor gear, 
Nor easy meat and drink, 

But bitter pinch of pain and fear 
That makes creation think 



When in this world's unpleasing youth 

Our god-like race began, 
The longest arm, the sharpest tooth, 

Gave man control of man; 

Till, bruised and bitten to the bom 
And taught by pain and fear, 

He learned to deal the far-off stone, 
And poke the long, safe spear. 



39* RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

So tooth and nail were obsolete 

As means against a foe, 
Till, bored by uniform defeat, 

Some genius built the bow. 

Then stone and javelin proved as vain 
As old-time tooth and nail; 

Till, spurred anew by fear and pain, 
Man fashioned coats of mail. 



Then was there safety for the rich 
And danger for the poor, 

Till someone mixed a powder which 
Redressed the scale once more. 



Helmet and armour disappeared 
With sword and bow and pike, 

And, when the smoke of battle cleared, 
All men were armed alike. . . . 



And when ten million such were slain 

To please one crazy king, 
Man, schooled in bulk by fear and pain, 

Grew weary of the thing; 

And, at the very hour designed, 

To enslave him past recall, 
His tooth-stone-arrow-gun-shy mind 

Turned and abolished all. 



All Power ^ each Tyrant^ every Mob 
Whose head has grown too large > 

Ends by destroying its own job 
And works its own discharge; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 393 

And Man, whose mere necessities 

Move all things from his path, 
Trembles meanwhile at their decrees, 

And deprecates their wrath ! 



IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 

1895 

TN THE Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage 

For food and fame and woolly horses' pelt; 
I was singer to my clan in that dim, red Dawn of Man, 
And I sang of all we fought and feared and felt. 

Yea, I sang as now I sing, when the Prehistoric spring 
Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove; 

And the troll and gnome and dwerg, and the Gods of Cliff and 
Berg 
Were about me and beneath me and above. 

But a rival of Solutre, told the tribe my style was outre — 

'Neath a tomahawk, of diorite, he fell. 
And I left my views on Art, barbed and tanged, below the 
heart 

Of a mammothistic etcher at Grenelle. 

Then I stripped them, scalp from skull, and my hunting dogs 
fed full, 
And their teeth I threaded neatly on a thong; 
And I wiped my mouth and said, "It is well that they are 
dead, 
"For I know my work is right and theirs was wrong." 



394 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

But my Totem saw the shame; from his ridgepole-shrine he 
came, 

And he told me in a vision of the night: — 
"There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays, 

"And every single one of them is right!" 



Then the silence closed upon me till They put new clothing 
on me 
Of whiter, weaker flesh and bone more frail; 
And I stepped beneath Time's finger, once again a tribal 
singer, 
And a minor poet certified by Traill. 

Still they skirmish to and fro, men my messmates on the snow. 

When we headed off the aurochs turn for turn; 
When the rich Allobrogenses never kept amanuenses, 

And our only plots were piled in lakes at Berne. 

Still a cultured Christian age sees us scuffle, squeak, and rage, 
Still we pinch and slap and jabber, scratch and dirk; 

Still we let our business slide — as we dropped the half-dressed 
hide- 
To show a fellow-savage how to work. 

Still the world is wondrous large, — seven seas from marge to 
marge — 

And it holds a vast of various kinds of man; 
And the wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of Khatmandhu, 

And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban. 

Here's my wisdom for your use, as I learned it when the moose 
And the reindeer roared where Paris roars to-night: — 

" There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal /ays, 
"And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right! " 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 395 

NATURAL THEOLOGY 



PRIMITIVE 



I 



ATE my fill of a whale that died 
And stranded after a month at sea. 
There is a pain in my inside. 

Why have the Gods afflicted me? 
Ow! I am purged till I am a wraith! 

Wow! I am sick till I cannot see! 
What is the sense of Religion and Faith? 

Look how the Gods have afflicted me! 



PAGAN 

How can the skin of rat or mouse hold 

Anything more than a harmless flea? . . 
The burning plague has taken my household. 

Why have my Gods afflicted me? 
All my kith and kin are deceased, 

Though they were as good as good could be, 
I will out and batter the family priest, 

Because mv Gods have afflicted me! 



MEDIEVAL 

My privy and well drain into each other 

After the custom of Christendie. . . . 
Fevers and fluxes are wasting my mother. 

Why has the Lord afflicted me ? 
The Saints are helpless for all I offer — 

So are the clergy I used to fee. 
Henceforward I keep my cash in my coffer, 

Because the Lord has afflicted me. 



396 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



MATERIAL 

I run eight hundred hens to the acre 

They die by dozens mysteriously. . . . 
I am more than doubtful concerning my Maker c 

Why has the Lord afflicted me? 
What a return for all my endeavour — 

Not to mention the L. S. D! 
I am an atheist now and for ever, 

Because this God has afflicted me! 



PROGRESSIVE 

Money spent on an Army or Fleet 

Is homicidal lunacy. . . . 
My son has been killed in the Mons retreat, 

Why is the Lord afflicting me? 
Why are murder, pillage and arson 

And rape allowed by the Deity? 
I will write to the Times, deriding our parson 

Because my God has afflicted me. 



CHORUS 

We had a kettle: we let it leak: 
Our not repairing it made it worse. 

We haven't had any tea for a week. 
The bottom is out of the Universe! 



CONCLUSION 

This was none of the good Lord's pleasure, 
For the Spirit He breathed in Man is free; 

But what comes after is measure for measure, 
And not a God that afflicteth thee. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 397 

As was the sowing so the reaping 

Is now and evermore shall be. 
Thou art delivered to thine own keeping. 

Only Thyself hath afflicted thee! 



THE STORY OF UNG 

1894 

{"WCE, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago, 

Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow. 
Fashioned the form of a tribesman — gaily he whistled and 

sung, 
Working the snow with his fingers. Read ye the story of Ung ! 

Pleased was his tribe with that image — came in their hundreds 

to scan — 
Handled it, smelt it, and grunted: " Verily, this is a man! 
"Thus do we carry our lances — thus is a war-belt slung. 
"Lo! it is even as we are. Glory and honour to Ung!" 

Later he pictured an aurochs — later he pictured a bear — 
Pictured the sabre-tooth tiger dragging a man to his lair — 
Pictured the mountainous mammoth, hairy, abhorrent, 

alone — 
Out of the love that he bore them, scriving them clearly on 

bone. 

Swift came his tribe to behold them, peering and pushing and 

still- 
Men of the berg-battered beaches, men of the boulder-hatched 

hill- 
Hunters and fishers and trappers, presently whispering low: 
"Yea, they are like — and it may be. But how does the 

Picture-man know? 



398 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Ung — hath he slept with the Aurochs — watched where the 
Mastodon roam? 

"Spoke on the ice with the Bow-head — followed the Sabre- 
tooth home? 

"Nay! These are toys of his fancy! If he have cheated us so, 

" How is there truth in his image — the man that he fashioned 
of snow?" 

Wroth was that maker of pictures — hotly he answered the call: 
"Hunters and fishers and trappers, children and fools are ye 

all! 
"Look at the beasts when ye hunt them!" Swift from the 

tumult he broke, 
Ran to the cave of his father and told him the shame that 

they spoke. 

And the father of Ung gave answer, that was old and wise in 

the craft, 
Maker of pictures aforetime, he leaned on his lance and 

laughed 
"If they could see as thou seest they would do what thou hast 

done, 
"And each man would make him a picture, and — what would 

become of my son ? 

"There would be no pelts of the reindeer, flung down at thy 

cave for a gift, 
"Nor dole of the oily timber that comes on the Baltic drift; 
"No store of well-drilled needles, nor ouches of amber pale; 
"No new-cut tongues of the bison, nor meat of the stranded 

whale. 

" Thou hast not toiled at the fishing when the sodden trammels 

freeze, 
"Nor worked the war-boats outward through the rush of the 

rock-staked seas, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 399 

'Yet they bring thee fish and plunder — full meal and an 

easy bed — 
'And all for the sake of thy pictures." And Ung held down 

his head. 



' Thou has not stood to the Aurochs when the red snow reeks 

of the fight. 
'Men have no time at the houghing to count his curls aright. 
'And the heart of the hairy Mammoth, thou sayest, they do 

not see, 
'Yet they save it whole from the beaches and broil the best 

for thee. 

' And now do they press to thy pictures, with opened mouth 

and eye, 
'And a little gift in the doorway, and the praise no gift can 

buy: 
'But — sure they have doubted thy pictures, and that is a 

grievous stain — 
'Son that can see so clearly, return them their gifts again!" 

And Ung looked down at his deerskins — their broad shell- 

tasselled bands — 
And Ung drew forward his mittens and looked at his naked 

hands; 
And he gloved himself and departed, and he heard his father, 

behind: 
'Son that can see so clearly, rejoice that thy tribe is blind!" 

Straight on the glittering ice-field, by the caves of the lost 

Dordogne, 
Ung, a maker of pictures, fell to his scriving on bone — 
Even to mammoth editions. Gaily he whistled and sung, 
Blessing his tribe for their blindness. Heed ye the Story of 

Ung! 



4 oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE CRAFTSMAN 

(~\NCE, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid, 

He to the overbearing Boanerges 
Jonson, uttered (if half of it were liquor, 

Blessed be the vintage!) 

Saying how, at an alehouse under Cotswold, 
He had made sure of his very Cleopatra, 
Drunk with enormous, salvation-contemning 
Love for a tinker. 

How, while he hid from Sir Thomas's keepers, 
Crouched in a ditch and drenched by the midnight 
Dews, he had listened to gipsy Juliet 

Rail at the dawning. 

How at Bankside, a boy drowning kittens 
Winced at the business; whereupon his sister — 
Lady Macbeth aged seven — thrust 'em under, 
Sombrely scornful. 

How on a Sabbath, hushed and compassionate — 
She being known since her birth to the townsfolk — 
Stratford dredged and delivered from Avon 
Dripping Ophelia. 

So, with a thin third finger marrying 
Drop to wine-drop domed on the table, 
Shakespeare opened his heart till the sunrise — 
Entered to hear him. 

London wakened and he, imperturbable, 
Passed from waking to hurry after shadows . . „ 
Busied upon shows of no earthly importance? 
Yes, but he knew it! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 401 

THE FILES 
1 903 

{The Sub-editor Speaks) 

PILES— 

The Files — 
Office Files! 

Oblige me by referring to the Files. 
Every question man can raise, 
Every phrase of every phase 
Of that question is on record in the Files — 
(Threshed out threadbare — fought and finished in the Files). 
Ere the Universe at large 
Was our new-tipped arrows* targe — 
Ere we rediscovered Mammon and his wiles — 
Faenza, gentle reader, spent her — five-and- twentieth leader— 
(You will find him, and some others, in the Files). 
Warn all coming Robert Brownings and Carlyles, 
It will interest them to hunt among the Files, 
Where unvisited, a-cold, 
Lie the crowded years of old 
In that Kensall-Green of greatness called the Files 
(In our newspaPere-la-Chaise the Office Files), 
Where the dead men lay them down 
Meekly sure of long renown, 
And above them, sere and swift, 
Packs the daily deepening drift 
Of the all-recording, all-effacing Files — 
The obliterating, automatic Files. 
Count the mighty men who slung 
Ink, Evangel, Sword, or Tongue 
When Reform and you were young — 
Made their boasts and spake according in the Files— 
(Hear the ghosts that wake applauding in the Files!) 



402 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Trace each all-forgot career 

From long primer through brevier 

Unto Death, a para minion in the Files 

(Para minion — solid — bottom of the Files). . . 

Some successful Kings and Queens adorn the Files. 

They were great, their views were leaded, 

And their deaths were triple-headed, 

So they catch the eye in running through the Files 

(Show as blazes in the mazes of the Files); 

For their "paramours and priests," 

And their gross, jack-booted feasts, 

And their "epoch-marking actions" see the Files. 

Was it Bomba fled the blue Sicilian isles? 

Was it SarTi, a professor 

Once of Oxford, brought redress or 

Garibaldi? Who remembers 

Forty-odd-year-old Septembers? — 

Only sextons paid to dig among the Files 

(Such as I am, born and bred among the Files). 

You must hack through much deposit 

Ere you know for sure who was it 

Came to burial with such honour in the Files 

(Only seven seasons back beneath the Files). 

"Very great our loss and grievous — 

"So our best and brightest leave us, 

"And it ends the Age of Giants," sav the Files; 

All the '6o— '70— '8o— '90 Files 

(The open-minded, opportunist Files — 

The easy "O King, live for ever" Files). 

It is good to read a little in the Files; 

'Tis a sure and sovereign balm 

Unto philosophic calm, 

Yea, and philosophic doubt when Life beguiles. 

When you know Success is Greatness, 

When you marvel at your lateness 

In apprehending facts so plain to Smiles 

(Self- helpful, wholly strenuous Samuel Smiles). 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 403 

When your Imp of Blind Desire 

Bids you set the Thames afire, 

You'll remember men have done so — in the Files. 

You'll have seen those flames transpire — in the Files 

(More than once that flood has run so— rin the Files). 

When the Conchimarian horns 

Of the reboantic Norns 

Usher gentlemen and ladies 

With new lights on Heaven and Hades, 

Guaranteeing to Eternity 

All yesterday's modernity; 

When Brocken-spectres made by 

Some one's breath on ink parade by, 

Very earnest and tremendous, 

Let not shows of shows offend us. 

When of everything we like we 

Shout ecstatic: "Quod ubique, 

"Quod ab omnibus means semper I" 

Oh, my brother, keep your temper! 

Light your pipe and take a look along the Files. 

You've a better chance to guess 

At the meaning of Success 

(Which is Greatness — vide press) 

When you've seen it in perspective in the Files. 



THE VIRGINITY 

"PRY as he will, no man breaks wholly loose 

From his first love, no matter who she be. 
Oh, was there ever sailor free to choose, 
That didn't settle somewhere near the sea? 

Myself, it don't excite me nor amuse 
To watch a pack o' shipping on the sea, 

But I can understand my neighbour's views 

From certain things which have occurred to me. 



40 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Men must keep touch with things they used to use 
To earn their living, even when they are free; 
And so come back upon the least excuse — 
Same as the sailor settled near the sea. 

He knows he's never going on no cruise — 
He knows he's done and finished with the sea; 
And yet he likes to feel she's there to use — 
If he should ask her — as she used to be. 

Even though she cost him all he had to lose, 
Even though she made him sick to hear or see 3 
Still, what she left of him will mostly choose 
Her skirts to sit by. How comes such to be? 

Parsons in pulpits, tax-payers in pews, 

Kings on your thrones, you know as well as me, 

We've only one virginity to lose, 

And where we lost it there our hearts will be I 



THE LEGENDS OF EVIL 



I 



PHIS is the sorrowful story 
Told as the twilight fails 
And the monkeys walk together 
Holding their neighbours' tails:— 

"Our fathers lived in the forest, 
"Foolish people were they, 

"They went down to the cornland 
"To teach the farmers to play. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 405 

"Our fathers frisked in the millet, 
"Our fathers skipped in the wheat, 

"Our fathers hung from the branches, 
"Our fathers danced in the street. 



"Then came the terrible farmers, 
"Nothing of play they knew, 

'Only . . . they caught our fathers 
"And set them to labour too! 



"Set them to work in the cornland 
"With ploughs and sickles and flails, 

"Put them in mud-walled prisons, 
"And — cut off their beautiful tails! 



"Now, we can watch our fathers, 
"Sullen and bowed and old, 

"Stooping over the millet, 
"Sharing the silly mould, 

"Driving a foolish furrow, 
"Mending a muddy yoke, 

"Sleeping in mud-walled prisons, 
"Steeping their food in smoke. 

"We may not speak with our fathers 3 

"For if the farmers knew 
"They would come up to the forest 

"And set us to labour too." 

This is the horrible story 

Told as the twilight fails 
And the monkeys walk together 

Holding their neighbours' tails. 



4 o6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

II 

r-pWAS when the rain fell steady an' the Ark was pitched 
an ready, 

That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes below; 
He dragged them all together by the horn an' hide an feather, 

An* all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go. 

First Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him sevarely, 
\n' thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the Lord :- 

"Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass that 
fed you — 
-Divil go wid ye, ye spalpeen!" an the Donkey wint 

aboard. 

But the wind was always failin', an' 'twas most onaisy sailin', 
W the ladies in the cabin couldn't stand the stable air; 

An' the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an died in 
batches, , ., ,. 

Till Noah said:— 'There's wan av us that hasn t paid his 

fare!" 

For he heard a Alteration 'mid the bastes av all creation- 
The trumpetin' av elephints an' bellowm av whales; 

\n' he saw forninst the windy whin he wint to stop the shindy 
The Divil wid a stable-fork was bedivillin their tails. 

The Divil cursed outrageous, but Noah said umbrageous :- 
"To what am I indebted for this tenant-right invasion r 

An' the Divil gave for answer: "Evict me if you can, sir, 
"For I came in wid the Donkey-on Your Honours 

invitation." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 407 

PAN IN VERMONT 

1 893 

(About the 15th of this month you may expect our Mr. — , with the usual 
Spring Seed, etc. , Catalogues. — Florists' Announcement. ) 

TT'S forty in the shade to-day the spouting eaves declare; 
The boulders nose above the drift, the southern slopes are 
bare; 
Hub-deep in slush Apollo's car swings north along the Zod- 
iac. Good lack, the Spring is back, and Pan is on the road! 

His house is Gee & Tellus' Sons, — so goes his jest with men — 
He sold us Zeus knows what last year; he'll take us in again. 
Disguised behind a livery-team, fur-coated, rubber-shod — 
Yet Apis from the bull-pen lows — he knows his brother God! 

Now down the lines of tasselled pines the yearning whispers 

wake — 
Pitys of old thy love behold. Come in for Hermes' sake! 
How long since that so-Boston boot with reeling Maenads 

ran? 
Numen adest ! Let be the rest. Pipe and we pay, O Pan. 

(What though his phlox and hollyhocks ere half a month 

demised ? 
What though his ampelopsis clambered not as advertised? 
Though every seed was guaranteed and every standard true — 
Forget, forgive they did not live! Believe, and buy anew!) 

Now o'er a careless knee he flings the painted page abroad — 
Such bloom hath never eye beheld this side the Eden Sword; 
Such fruit Pomona marks her own, yea, Liber oversees 
That we may reach (one dollar each) the Lost Hesperides! 



4 o8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Serene, assenting, unabashed, he writes our orders down: — 
Blue Asphodel on all our paths — a few true bays for crown — 
I T ncankered bud, immortal flower, and leaves that never fall — 
Apples of Gold, of Youth, of Health — and — thank you, Pan, 
that's all. 

He's off along the drifted pent to catch the Windsor train, 
And swindle every citizen from Keene to Lake Champlain; 
But where his goat's-hoof cut the crust — beloved, look 

below — 
He's left us (I'll forgive him all) the may-flower 'neath her 

snow ! 



VERSES ON GAMES 

(To an Almanac of Twelve Sports by W. Nicholson, 1898.) 

UERE is a horse to tame 

Here is a gun to handle — 
God knows you can enter the game 
If you II only pay for the same, 
And the price of the game is a candle — 
A single flickering candle ! 

January {Hunting) Certes, it is a noble sport, 
And men have quitted selle and swum for't. 

But I am of the meeker sort 
And I prefer Surtees in comfort. 

Reach me my Handley Cross again, 

My run, where never danger lurks, is 
With Jorrocks and his deathless train — 

Pigg, Binjimin, and Artexerxes. 

February {Coursing) Most men harry the world for fun 
Each man seeks it a different way, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 409 

But 4< of all daft devils under the sun, 
A greyhound's the daftest" says Jorrocks J. 

March {Racing) The horse is ridden — the jockey rides — 

The backers back — the owners own 
But . . . there are lots of things beside, 

And / should let this game alone. 

April {Rowing) The Pope of Rome he could not win 

From pleasant meats and pleasant sin 
These who, replying not, submit 

Unto the curses of the pit 
Which that stern coach (oh, greater shame) 

Flings forth by number not by name. 
Can Triple Crown or Jesuit's oath 
Do what one wrathful trainer doth? 

May {Fishing) Behold a parable. A fished for B 

C took her bait; her heart being set on D. 
Thank heaven who cooled your blood and cramped vour 
wishes, 

Men and not Gods torment you, little fishes! 

June {Cricket) Thank God who made the British Isles 

And taught me how to play, 
I do not worship crocodiles, 

Or bow the knee to clay! 
Give me a willow wand and I 

With hide and cork and twine 
From century to century 

Will gambol round my shrine ! 

July {Archery) The child of the Nineties considers with 

laughter 
The maid whom his sire in the Sixties ran after, 
While careering himself in pursuit of a girl whom 
The Twenties will dub a 'Mast centurv heirloom." 



4 io RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

August (Coaching) The Pious Horse to church may trot, 
A maid may work a man's salvation .... 

Four horses and a girl are not, 
However, roads to reformation. 



September (Shooting) " Peace upon Earth, Goodwill to men 

So greet we Christmas Day! 
Oh, Christian, load your gun and then 

Oh, Christian, out and slay. 



October (Golf) Why Golf is art and art is Golf 

We have not far to seek — 
So much depends upon the lie, 

So much upon the cleek. 



November (Boxing) Read here the moral roundly writ 

For him who into battle goes — 
Each soul that hitting hard or hit, 

Endureth gross or ghostly foes. 

Prince, blown by many overthrows 

Half blind with shame, half choked with dirt 
Man cannot tell, but Allah knows 

How much the other side was hurt ! 



December (Skating) Over the ice she flies 

Perfect and poised and fair. 
Stars in my true-love's eyes 

Teach me to do and dare. 
Now will I fly as she flies — 

Woe for the stars that misled. 
Stars I beheld in her eyes, 

Now do I see in my head! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 411 

Now we must come away. 

What are you out of pocket ? 
'Sorry to spoil your play 
But somebody says we must pay 

And the candle's down to the socket — 
Its horrible tallowy socket. 



TOMLINSON 

1 8 9 1 

'VTOW Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley 

Square, 
And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him bv the 

hair — 
A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away, 
Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the 

Milky Way: 
Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone 

and cease, 
And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds 

the keys. 
"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and 

high 
"The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to 

die — 
"The good that ve did for the sake of men on little earth so 

lone-'" 
And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a rain-washed 

bone. 

" O I have a friend on earth," he said, " that was my priest and 

guide, 
"And well would he answer all for me if he were at my side." 



412 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

— "For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written 

fair, 
"But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley 

Square: 
"Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he 

could not speak for you, 
"For the race is run by one and one and never by two and 

two." 
Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was 

there, 
For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his 

soul was bare. 
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a 

knife, 
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his good in 

life. 
"O this I have read in a book," he said, " and that was told to 

me, 
"And this I have thought that another man thought of a 

Prince in Muscovy." 
The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear 

the path, 
And Peter twirled the jangling Keys in weariness and wrath. 
"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, 

"and the tale is yet to run: 
"By the worth of the body that once ye had, give answer — 

what ha' ye done?" 
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore, 
For the darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's 

Gate before: — 
"O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I have 

heard men say, 
"And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in 

Norroway." 
"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye 

have hampered Heaven's Gate; 
"There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 413 

*'0 none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and 

kin 
"Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair 

within; 
" Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for the doom has 

yet to run, 
"And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square 

uphold you, Tomlinson!" 



The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell 
Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the 

mouth of Hell. 
The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with 

pain, 
But the third are black with clinkered sins that cannot burn 

again : 
They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with 

never a soul to mark, 
They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn 

of the Outer Dark. 
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it nipped him to 

the bone, 
And he yearned to the flare of Hell-gate there as the light of 

his own hearth-stone. 
The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions 

drew, 
But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him 

through. 
"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?" said he, 
"That ye rank yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no leave of me? 
"I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give me 

scorn, 
"For I strove with God for your First Father the day that he 

was born. 
"Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud and high 



4 i4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came 

to die." 
And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night 
The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth light; 
And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his 

feet 
The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-Mouth 

heat. 
"O I had a love on earth," said he, "that kissed me to my fall; 
"And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer 

all." 
- — "All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair, 
"But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley 

Square: 
"Though we whistled your love from her bed to-night, I trow 

she would not run, 
"For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by 

one!" 
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a 

knife, 
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sins in life: — 
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the 

grip of the Grave, 
"And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might 

call me brave." 
The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it aside to 

cool : — 
"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of 

a brain-sick fool? 
li I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolthead jest ve 

did 
"That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three 

on a grid." 
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was little 

grace. 
For Hell-Gate filled the houseless soul with the Fear of Naked 

Space. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 415 

"Nay, this I ha* heard," quo* Tomlinson, "and this was 

noised abroad, 
"And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead 

French lord." 
— "Ye ha* heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the 

tale begins afresh — 
"Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the sin- 
ful lust of the flesh?" 
Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered, "Let 

me in — 
"For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to sin the 

deadly sin." 
The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked the fires 

high: 
"Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and Tomlinsori 

said,"Ay!" 
The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils ran, 
And he said : " Go husk this whimpering thief that comes in 

the guise of a man: 
"Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his proper 

worth: 
"There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn of 

earth." 
Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the fire, 
But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height of their 

desire, 
Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it all abroad, 
As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard 
And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children 

after play, 
And they said: "The soul that he got from God he has bar- 
tered clean away. 
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed 

a chattering wind, 
"And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot And. 
"We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared 

him to the bone, 



4 i6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"And Sire, if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his 

own." 
The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and rumbled deep 

and low: — 
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go. 
"Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place, 
" My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face; 
"They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless 

host, 
"And — I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a 

shiftless ghost." 
The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel 

the flame, 
And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own 

good name: — 
"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry. 
"Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; and Tom- 

linson said, "Ay!" 
The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was fret 

from care: — 
"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, " but the roots 

of sin are there. 
"And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone. 
"But sinful pride has rule inside — ay, mightier than my own. 
"Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his Priest 

and Whore; 
"Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture 

sore. 
"Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are neither 

book nor brute — 
"Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's 

repute. 
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your 

pain, 
" But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again. 
"Get hence, the hearse is at your door — the grim black stal- 
lions wait — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 417 

''Thef bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest ye come 

too late! 
'Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed — go back with an open 

eye, 
" And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to 

die: 
'That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one 

by one, 
'And . . . the God that you took from a printed book 

be with you, Tomlinson!" 



EN-DOR 

Behold there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at En-dor." i Samuel^ 
xxviii. 7. 

"PHE road to En-dor is easy to tread 

For Mother or yearning Wife. 
There, it is sure, we shall meet our Dead 

As they were even in life. 
Earth has not dreamed of the blessing in store 
For desolate hearts on the road to En-dor. 

Whispers shall comfort us out of the dark — 

Hands — ah God! — that we knew! 
Visions and voices — look and hark! — 

Shall prove that the tale is true, 
And that those who have passed to the further shore 
May be hailed — at a price — on the road to En-dor. 

But they are so deep in their new eclipse 

Nothing they say can reach, 
Unless it be uttered by alien lips 

And framed in a stranger's speech. 
The son must send word to the mother that bore, 
Through an hireling's mouth. 'Tis the rule of En-dor. 



4 i 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And not for nothing these gifts are shown 

By such as delight our dead. 
They must twitch and stiffen and slaver and groan 

Ere the eyes are set in the head, 
And the voice from the belly begins. Therefore, 
We pay them a wage where they ply at En-dor. 

Even so, we have need of faith 

And patience to follow the clue. 
Often, at first, what the dear one saith 

Is babble, or jest, or untrue. 
(Lying spirits perplex us sore 

Till our loves — and their lives — are well-known at 
En-dor). . . . 

Oh the road to En-dor is the oldest road 

And the craziest road of all ! 
Straight it runs to the Witch's abode y 

As it did in the days of Saul, 
And nothing has changed of the sorrow in store 
For such as go down on the road to En-dor ! 



THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES 
191 1 

"\\f HEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his 

pride, 
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. 
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and 

nail. 
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. 

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, 
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 419 

But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside 

the trail. 
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male 

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choc- 
taws, 

They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the 
squaws. 

'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark en- 
thusiasts pale. 

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. 

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say, 
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away; 
But when hunter meets with husband, each confirms the 

other's tale — 
The female of the species is more deadly than the male. 

Man, a bear in most relations — worm and savage otherwise, — 
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise. 
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact 
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act. 

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low. 
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe. 
Mirth obscene diverts his anger- — Doubt and Pity oft perplex 
Him in dealing with an issue — to the scandal of The Sex! 

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame 
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for 

the same; 
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, 
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male. 

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her 

breast 
May not deal in doubt or pity — must not swerve for fact or 

jest. 



4 2o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

These be purely male diversions — not in these her honour 

dwells. 
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else. 



She can bring no more to living than the powers that make 
her great 

As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate. 

And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides un- 
claimed to claim 

Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same. 



She is wedded to convictions — in default of grosser ties; 
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who 

denies ! — 
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, 

wild, 
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and 

child. 



Unprovoked and awful charges — even so the she-bear fights, 
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons — even so the cobra 

bites, 
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw 
And the victim writhes in anguish — like the Jesuit with the 

squaw! 



So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer 

With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for 
her 

Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring 
hands 

To some God of Abstract Justice — which no woman under- 
stands. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 42 r 

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman 

that God gave him 
Must command but may not govern — shall enthral but not 

enslave him. 
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts 

never fail, 
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male. 



A RECANTATION 

1 9 1 7 
(to lyde of the music halls) 

TJfHAT boots it on the Gods to call ? 

Since, answered or unheard. 
We perish with the Gods and all 
Things made — except the Word. 

Ere certain Fate had touched a heart 

By fifty years made cold, 
I judged thee, Lyde, and thy art 
O'erblown and over-bold. 



But he — but he, of whom bereft 

I suffer vacant days — 
He on his shield not meanly left — 

He cherished all thy lays. 

Witness the magic coffer stocked 

With convoluted runes 
Wherein thy very voice was locked 

And linked to circling tunes. 



422 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Witness thy portrait, smoke-defiled, 
That decked his shelter-place. 

Life seemed more present, wrote the child, 
Beneath thy well-known face. 



And when the grudging days restored 

Him for a breath to home, 
He, with fresh crowds of youth, adored 

Thee making mirth in Rome. 

Therefore, I humble, join the hosts, 

Loyal and loud, who bow 
To thee as Queen of Song — and ghosts, 

For I remember how 

Never more rampant rose the Hall 

At thy audacious line 
Than when the news came in from Gaul 

Thy son had — followed mine. 

But thou didst hide it in thy breast 
And, capering, took the brunt 

Of blaze and blare, and launched the jest 
That swept next week the front. 

Singer to children! Ours possessed 
Sleep before noon — but thee, 

Wakeful each midnight for the rest, 
No holocaust shall free! 



Yet they who use the Word assigned, 

To hearten and make whole, 
Not less than Gods have served mankind, 

Though vultures rend their soul. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 423 

THE EXPLANATION 

1890 

T OVE and Death once ceased their strife 

At the Tavern of Man's Life. 
Called for wine, and threw — alas ! — 
Each his quiver on the grass. 
When the bout was o'er they found 
Mingled arrows strewed the ground. 
Hastily they gathered then 
Each the loves and lives of men. 
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived! 
Mingled arrows each one sheaved. 
Death's dread armoury was stored 
With the shafts he most abhorred; 
Love's light quiver groaned beneath 
Venom-headed darts of Death. 
Thus it was they wrought our woe 
At the Tavern long ago. 
Tell me, do our masters know, 
Loosing blindly as they fly, 
Old men love while young men die ? 



A PILGRIM'S WAY 

F DO not look for holy saints to guide mc on my way, 
Or male and female devilkins to lead my feet astray. 
If these are added, I rejoice — if not, I shall not mind, 
So long as I have leave and choice to meet my fellow-kind. 
For as we come and as we go (and deadly-soon go we !) 
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! 



4 2 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Thus I will honour pious men whose virtue shines so bright 
(Though none are more amazed than I when I by chance do 

right), 
And I will pity foolish men for woe their sins have bred 
(Though ninety-nine per cent, of mine I brought on my own 
head). 
And, Amorite or Eremite, or General Averagee, 
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me ! 

And when they bore me overmuch, I will not shake mine ears, 

Recalling many thousand such whom I have bored to tears. 

And when they labour to impress, I will not doubt nor scoff; 

Since I myself have done no less and — sometimes pulled it off. 
Yea, as we are and we are not, and we pretend to be, 
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me ! 

And when they work me random wrong, as oftentimes hath 

been, 
I will not cherish hate too long (my hands are none too clean . 
And when they do me random good I will not feign surprise. 
No more than those whom I have cheered with wayside 
charities. 
But, as we give and as we take — whate'er our takings be — 
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me ! 

But when I meet with frantic folk who sinfully declare 
There is no pardon for their sin, the same I will not spare 
Till I have proved that Heaven and Hell which in our hearts 

we have 
Show nothing irredeemable on either side the grave. 

For as we live and as we die — if utter Death there be — 
The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! 

Deliver me from every pride — the Middle, High, and Low — 
That bars me from a brother's side, whatever pride he show. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 425 

And purge me from all heresies of thought and speech and pen 
That bid me judge him otherwise than I am judged. Amen ! 
That I may sing of Crowd or King or road-borne company, 
That I may labour in my day, vocation and degree, 
To prove the same in deed and name, and hold unshakenly 
(Where'er I go, whate'er I know, whoe'er my neighbour be) 
This single faith in Life and Death and to Eternity: 
"The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me!" 



THE ANSWER 

1892 



A 



ROSE, in tatters on the garden path, 

Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His Wrath. 
Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush 
Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. 
And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun, 
Had pity, whispering to that luckless one. 
"Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well — 
What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?" 
And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour 
"A voice said, 'Father, wherefore falls the flower: 
"'For lo, the very gossamers are still.' 
"And a voice answered, 'Son, by Allah's Will!" 

Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward, 

Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord: 

"Sister, before We smote the Dark in twain, 

"Ere yet the stars saw one another plain, 

"Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task 

"That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask." 

Whereat the withered flower, all content, 

Died as they die whose days are innocent; 

While he who questioned why the flower fell 

Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell. 



426 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

MARY'S SON 



i i 



TF YOU stop to find out what your wages will be 

And how they will clothe and feed you, 
Willie, my son, don't you go on the Sea, 
For the Sea will never need you. 

If you ask for the reason of every command, 

And argue with people about you, 
Willie, my son, don't you go on the Land, 

For the Land will do better without you. 

If you stop to consider the work you have done 
And to boast what your labour is worth, dear, 

Angels may come for you, Willie, my son, 
But you'll never be wanted on Earth, dear! 



THE GIFT OF THE SEA 

1890 

HpHE dead child lay in the shroud, 
And the widow watched beside; 
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept 
The gale in the teeth of the tide. 

But the mother laughed at all. 

"I have lost my man in the sea, 
"And the child is dead. Be still," she said, 

"What more can ye do to me?" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 42; 

The widow watched the dead, 

And the candle guttered low, 
And she tried to sing the Passing Song 

That bids the poor soul go. 

And "Mary take you now," she sang, 

"That lay against my heart." 
And "Mary smooth your crib to-night," 

But she could not say "Depart." 

Then came a cry from the sea, 

But the sea-rime blinded the glass, 
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said, 

"Tis the child that waits to pass." 



And the nodding mother sighed. 

* 'Tis a lambing ewe in the whin, 
"For why should the christened soul cry out 

"That never knew of sin?" 



"O feet I have held in my hand, 

"O hands at my heart to catch, 
"How should they know the road to go, 

"And how should they lift the latch?" 

They laid a sheet to the door, 

With the little quilt atop, 
That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt, 

But the crying would not stop. 

The widow lifted the latch 

And strained her eyes to see, 
And opened the door on the bitter shore 

To let the soul go free. 



428 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There was neither glimmer nor ghost, 
There was neither spirit nor spark, 
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?'* she said, 
"Tis crying for me in the dark." 

And the nodding mother sighed: 

' 'Tis sorrow makes ye dull; 
"Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, 
"Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?" 



"The terns are blown inland, 

"The grey gullfollows the plough. 
' 'T was never a bird, the voice I heard, 

"O mother, I hear it now!" 

"Lie still, dear lamb, lie still; 

"The child is passed from harm, 
" 'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest, 

"And the feel of an empty arm." 

She put her mother aside, 

"In Mary's name let be! 
"For the peace of my soul I must go," she said, 

And she went to the calling sea. 

In the heel of the wind-bit pier, 

Where the twisted weed was piled, 
She came to the life she had missed bv an hour 

For she came to a little child. 



She laid it into her breast, 

And back to her mother she came, 

But it would not feed and it would not heed, 
Though she gave it her own child's name. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 429 

And the dead child dripped on her breast, 
And her own in the shroud lay stark; 

And "God forgive us, mother," she said, 
"We let it die in the dark!" 



THE KING 

1894 

"EfAREWELL, Romance! the Cave-men said; 

"With bone well carved he went away, 
"Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead, 

"And jasper tips the spear to-day. 
"Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance, 
"And He with these. Farewell, Romance!" 

"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed; 

"We lift the weight of flatling years; 
"The caverns of the mountain-side 

"Hold Him who scorns our hutted piers. 
"Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell, 
"Guard ye His rest. Romance, Farewell!" 

"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke; 

" By sleight of sword we may not win, 
" But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke 

"Of arquebus and culverin. 
"Honour is lost, and none may tell 
"Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!" 

"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried; 

"Our keels have lain with every sea; 
"The dull-returning wind and tide 

"Heave up the wharf where we would be; 
"The known and noted breezes swell 
"Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!" 



43 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said; 

"He vanished with the coal we burn. 
"Our dial marks full-steam ahead, 

"Our speed is timed to half a turn. 
"Sure as the ferried barge we ply 
"'Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye !" 

"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn, 

"He never ran to catch his train, 
"But passed with coach and guard and horn — 

"And left the local — late again!" 
Confound Romance! . . . And all unseen 
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen. 

His hand was on the lever laid, 

His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks, 

His whistle waked the snowbound grade, 
His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks; 

By dock and deep and mine and mill 

The Boy-god reckless laboured still! 

Robed, crowned and throned, He wove his spell, 
Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled, 

With unconsidered miracle, 

Hedged in a backward-gazing world: 

Then taught his chosen bard to say: 

"Our King was with us — yesterday!" 



THE LAST RHYME OF TRUE THOMAS 

1893 

T^HE King has called for priest and cup, 

The King has taken spur and blade 
To dub True Thomas a belted knight, 
And all for the sake o' the songs he made. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 431 

They have sought him high, they have sought him low, 
They have sought him over down and lea. 

They have found him by the milk-white thorn 
That guards the gates o' Faerie. 



'Twas bent beneath and blue above > 

Their eyes were held that they might not see 

The kine that grazed beneath the knowes y 
Oh y they were the Queens 0' Faerie! 

"Now cease your song," the King he said, 
"Oh, cease your song and get you dight 

"To vow your vow and watch your arms, 
"For I will dub you a belted knight. 

"For I will give you a horse o' pride, 

"Wi' blazon and spur and page and squire; 

"Wi' keep and tail and seizin and law, 
"And land to hold at your desire." 

True Thomas smiled above his harp, 
And turned his face to the naked sky, 

Where, blown before the wastrel wind 
The thistle-down she floated by. 

"I ha' vowed my vow in another place, 

"And bitter oath it was on me. 
"I ha' watched my arms the lee-long night, 

"Where five-score fighting men would flee. 

"My lance is tipped o' the hammered flame, 
"My shield is beat o' the moonlight cold; 

"And I won my spurs in the Middle W 7 orld, 
"A thousand fathom beneath the mould. 



432 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"And what should I make wi' a horse o' pride, 
"And what should I make wi* a sword so brown, 

"But spill the rings o' the Gentle Folk 
"And flyte my kin in the Fairy Town? 



"And what should I make wi' blazon and belt, 
"Wi' keep and tail and seizin and fee, 

'And what should I do wi' page and squire 
"That am a king in my own countrie? 

"For I send east and I send west, 
"And I send far as my will may flee, 

,l By dawn and dusk and the drinking rain, 
"And syne my Sendings return to me. 

"They come wi' news of the groanin' earth, 
"They come wi' news o' the roarin' sea, 

"Wi' word of Spirit and Ghost and Flesh, 
"And man, that's mazed among the three." 

The King he bit his nether lip, 

And smote his hand upon his knee: 

"By the faith o' my soul, True Thomas," he said, 
"Ye waste no wit in courtesie! 

"As I desire, unto my pride, 

"Can I make Earls by three and three, 
''To run before and ride behind 

"And serve the sons o' my body." 

"And what care I for your row-foot earls, 

"Or all the sons o' your body? 
' ' Before they win to the Pride o' Name, 

"I trow they all ask leave o' me. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 433 

"For I make Honour wi' muckle mouth, 

"As I make Shame wi' mincin' feet, 
"To sing wi' the priests at the market-cross, 

"Or run wi' the dogs in the naked street. 

"And some they give me the good red gold, 
"And some they give me the white money, 

"And some they give me a clout o' meal, 
"For they be people of low degree. 

"And the song I sing for the counted gold 
"The same I sing for the white money, 

"But best I sing for the clout o' meal 
"That simple people given me." 

The King cast down a silver groat, 

A silver groat o' Scots money, 
"If I come wi* a poor man's dole," he said, 

"True Thomas, will ye harp to me?" 

"Whenas I harp to the children small, 

"They press me close on either hand. 
"And who are you," True Thomas said, 

"That you should ride while they must stand? 

''Light down, light down from your horse o* pride, 

"I trow ye talk too loud and hie, 
"And I will make you a triple word, 

"And syne, if ye dare, ye shall 'noble me." 

He has lighted down from his horse o' pride, 

And set his back against the stone. 
"Now guard you well," True Thomas said, 

"Ere I rax your heart from your breast-bone!" 



434 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

True Thomas played upon his harp, 
The fairy harp that couldna lee, 

And the first least word the proud King heard. 
It harpit the salt tear out o' his e'e. 



"Oh, I see the love that I lost long syne, 
"I touch the hope that I may not see, 

"And all that I did of hidden shame, 
"Like little snakes they hiss at me. 

"The sun is lost at noon — at noon! 

"The dread o' doom has grippit me. 
"True Thomas, hide me under your cloak, 

"God wot, I'm little fit to dee!" 

'Twas bent beneath and blue above — 
'Twas open field and running flood — 

Where, hot on heath and dyke and wall, 
The high sun warmed the adder s brood. 

"Lie down, lie down," True Thomas said. 

"The God shall judge when all is done, 
"But I will bring you a better word 

"And lift the cloud that I laid on." 



True Thomas played upon his harp, 
That birled and brattled to his hand, 

And the next least word True Thomas made. 
It garred the King take horse and brand. 

"Oh, I hear the tread o' the fighting-men, 
"I see the sun on splent and spear. 

"I mark the arrow outen the fern 
"That flies so low and sings so clear! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 435 

" Advance my standard? to that war, 

"And bid my good knights prick and ride; 

"The gled shall watch as fierce a fight 

" As e'er was fought on the Border side!" 

J Twas bent beneath and blue above, 

'Twas nodding grass and naked sky, 
Where, ringing up the wastrel wind, 

The eyass stooped upon the pye. 



True Thomas sighed above his harp, 

And turned the song on the midmost string; 

And the last least word True Thomas made, 
He harpit his dead youth back to the King. 

"Now I am prince, and I do well 
"To love my love withouten fear; 

"To walk with man in fellowship, 

"And breathe my horse behind the deer. 

"My hounds they bay unto the death, 
"The buck has couched beyond the burn, 

"My love she waits at her window 
"To wash my hands when I return. 

"For that I live am I content 

"(Oh! I have seen my true love's eyes) 

"To stand wi' Adam in Eden-glade, 
"And run in the woods o' Paradise!" 



' Twas naked sky and nodding grass, 
y Twas running flood and wastrel wind, 

Where, checked against the open pass s 
The red deer turned to wait the hind. 



436 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

True Thomas laid his harp away, 
And low ted low at the saddle-side; 

He has taken stirrup and hauden rein, 
And set the King on his horse o* pride. 

"Sleep ye or wake," True Thomas said, 
"That sit so still, that muse so long? 

"Sleep ye or wake? — till the Latter Sleep 
"I trow ye'll not forget my song. 

"I ha* harpit a shadow out o' the sun 
"To stand before your face and cry; 

"I ha r armed the earth beneath your heel, 
"And over your head I ha' dusked the sky. 

"I ha* harpit ye up to the Throne o' God, 
"I ha' harpit your midmost soul in three; 

"I ha* harpit ye down to the Hinges o' Hell, 
"And — ye — would — make — a Knight o* me! 



THE SONS OF MARTHA 

pHE Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited 

that good part; 
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful 

soul and the troubled heart. 
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was 

rude to the Lord her Guest, 
Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, 

reprieve, or rest. 

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion 

the shock. 
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the 

switches lock. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 437 

It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to 

embark and entrain, 
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land 

and main. 

They say to mountains, "Be ye removed." They say to the 

lesser floods "Be dry." 
Under their rods are the rocks reproved — they are not afraid 

of that which is high. 
Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit — then is the bed 

of the deep laid bare, 
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping 

and unaware. 

They finger death at their gloves' end where they piece and 

repiece the living wires. 
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry 

behind their fires. 
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his 

terrible stall, 
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn 

him till evenfall. 

To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is 
Relief afar. 

They are concerned with matters hidden — under the earth- 
line their altars are: 

The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore 
to the mouth, 

And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a 
city's drouth. 

They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little 

before the nuts work loose. 
They do not teach that His Pity allows them to leave their 

job when they damn-well choose. 



438 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and 

the desert they stand, 
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren's days 

may be long in the land. 

Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more 
fair or flat; 

Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled 
for that! 

Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any 
creed, 

But simple service simply given to his own kind in their com- 
mon need. 

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed — they know the 

angels are on their side. 
They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are 

the Mercies multiplied. 
They sit at the Feet — they hear the Word — they see how 

truly the Promise runs. 
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and — the Lord 

He lays it on Martha's Sons! 



THE PALACE 

1902 

\\/~HEN I was King and a Mason — a Master proven and 

skilled — 
I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build. 
I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently, under the 

silt, 
f came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had built. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 439 

There was no worth in the fashion — there was no wit in the 

plan — 
Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran — 
Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone: 
"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him y I too have known." 

Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned 

ground-works grew, 
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and reset them 

anew. 
Lime I milled of his marbles; burned it, slacked it, and spread; 
Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead. 

Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet, as we wrenched them 

apart, 
I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder's 

heart. 
As he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand 
The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing 

he had planned. 



When I was a King and a Mason — in the open noon of my 

pride, 
They sent me a Word from the Darkness — They whispered 

and called me aside. 
They said — "The end is forbidden." They said — "Thy use 

is fulfilled. 
"Thy Palace shall stand as that other's — the spoil of a King 

who shall build." 

I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves, 

and my sheers. 
All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless 

years. 
Only I cut on the timber — only I carved on the stone: 
xi After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known /" 



44Q RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



EPITAPHS OF THE WAR 

" Equality of Sacrifice" 

x^. "I was a Have.'" B. "I was a "have-not."' 

{Together.) "What hast thou given which I gave 
not?" 

A Servant 

We were together since the War began. 
He was my servant — and the better man. 

A Son 

My son was killed while laughing at some jest. I would I 

knew 
What it was, and it might serve me in a time when jests are 

few. 

An Only Son 

I have slain none except my Mother. She 
(Blessing her slayer) died of grief for me. 

Ex-Clerk 

Pity not! The Army gave 
Freedom to a timid slave: 
In which Freedom did he find 
Strength of body, will, and mind: 
By which strength he came to prove 
Mirth, Companionship, and Love: 
For which Love to Death he went: 
In which Death he lies content. 

The Wonder 

Body and Spirit I surrendered whole 

To harsh Instructors — and received a soul . . . 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 441 

It mortal man could change me through and through 
From all I was — what may The God not do ? 

Hindu Sepoy in France 

This man in his own country prayed we know not to what 

Powers. 
We pray Them to reward him for his bravery in ours. 

The Coward 

I could not look on Death, which being known, 
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone. 

Shock 

My name, my speech, my self I had forgot. 
My wife and children came — I knew them not. 
I died. My Mother followed. At her call 
And on her bosom I remembered all. 

A Grave near Cairo 

Gods of the Nile, should this stout fellow here 
Get out — get out! He knows not shame nor fear. 

Pelicans in the Wilderness 
(a grave near halfa) 

The blown sand heaps on me, that none may learn 

Where I am laid for whom my children grieve. . . . 

O wings that beat at dawning, ye return 
Out of the desert to your young at eve! 

The Favour 

Death favoured me from the first, well knowing I could not 
endure 
To wait on him day by day. He quitted my betters and 
came 



442 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Whistling over the fields, and, when he had made all sure, 
"Thy line is at end," he said, " but at least I have saved its 
name." 

The Beginner 

On the first hour of my first day 

In the front trench I fell. 
(Children in boxes at a play 

Stand up to watch it well.) 

R. A. F. (Aged Eighteen) 

Laughing through clouds, his milk-teeth still unshed, 
Cities and men he smote from overhead. 
His deaths delivered, he returned to play 
Childlike, with childish things now put away. 

The Refined Man 

I was of delicate mind. I stepped aside for my needs, 
Disdaining the common office. I was seen from afar and 
killed. . . . 
How is this matter for mirth? Let each man be judged by 
his deeds. 
/ have paid my price to live with myself on the terms that I 
willed. 

Native Water-Carrier (M. E. F.) 

Prometheus brought down fire to men. 

This brought up water. 
The Gods are jealous — now, as then, 

Giving no quarter. 

Bombed in London 

On land and sea I strove with anxious care 
To escape conscription. It was in the air! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 443 

The Sleepy Sentinel 

Faithless the watch that I kept: now I have none to keep. 
I was slain because I slept: now I am slain I sleep. 
Let no man reproach me again, whatever watch is unkept — 
I sleep because I am slain. They slew me because I slept. 

Batteries out of Ammunition 

If any mourn us in the workshop, say 
We died because the shift kept holiday. 

Common Form 

If any question why we died, 
Tell them, because our fathers lied. 

A Dead Statesman 

I could not dig: I dared not rob: 
Therefore I lied to please the mob. 
Now all my lies are proved untrue 
And I must face the men I slew. 
What tale shall serve me here among 
Mine angry and defrauded young? 

The Rebel 

If I had clamoured at Thy Gate 

For gift of Life on Earth, 
And, thrusting through the souls that wait, 

Flung headlong into birth — 
Even then, even then, for gin and snare 

About my pathway spread, 
Lord, I had mocked Thy thoughtful care 

Before I joined the Dead! 
But now? . . . I was beneath Thy Hand 

Ere yet the Planets came. 
And now — though Planets pass, I stand 

The witness to Thy shame. 



444 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



The Obedient 

Daily, though no ears attended, 

Did my prayers arise. 
Daily, though no fire descended 

Did I sacrifice. 
Though my darkness did not lift, 

Though I faced no lighter odds, 
Though the Gods bestowed no gift, 
None the less, 

None the less, I served the Gods! 



A Drifter off Tarentum 

He from the wind-bitten north with ship and companions 
descended. 
Searching for eggs of death spawned by invisible hulls. 
Many he found and drew forth. Of a sudden the fisherv 
ended 
In flame and a clamorous breath not new to the eye-pecking 
gulls. 

Destroyers in Collision 

For Fog and Fate no charm is found 

To lighten or amend. 
I, hurrying to my bride, was drowned — 

Cut down by my best friend. 



Convoy Escort 

I was a shepherd to fools 
Causelessly bold or afraid. 

They would not abide by my rules. 
Yet they escaped. For I stayed, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 445 



Unknown Female Corpse 



Headless, lacking foot and hand. 
Horrible I come to land. 
I beseech all women's sons 
Know I was a mother once. 



Raped and Revenged 

One used and butchered me: another spied 
Me broken — for which thing an hundred died. 
So it was learned among the heathen hosts 
How much a freeborn woman's favour costs. 



Salonikan Grave 

I have watched a thousand days 

Push out and crawl into night 

Slowly as tortoises. 

Now I, too, follow these. 

It is fever, and not the fight — 

Time, not battle — that slays. 



The Bridegroom 

Call me not false, beloved, 

If, from thy scarce-known breast 

So little time removed, 
In other arms I rest. 



For this more ancient bride 
Whom coldly I embrace 

Was constant at my side 
Before I saw thy face. 



446 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



Our marriage, often set — 
By miracle delayed — 

At last is consummate, 
And cannot be unmade. 



Live, then, whom Life shall cure, 

Almost, of Memory, 
And leave us to endure 

Its immortality. 



V. A. D. (Mediterranean) 

Ah, would swift ships had never been, for then we ne'er had 

found, 
These harsh Mgean rocks between, this little virgin drowned, 
Whom neither spouse nor child shall mourn, but men she 

nursed through pain 
And — certain keels for whose return the heathen look in vain. 



JUSTICE 

October, i 9 i 8 

A 'CROSS a world where all men grieve 
And grieving strive the more, 
The great days range like tides and leave 

Our dead on every shore. 
Heavy the load we undergo, 

And our own hands prepare \ 
If we have parley with the foe, 
The load our sons must bear. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 447 

Before we loose the word 

That bids new worlds to birth, 
Needs must we loosen first the sword 

Of Justice upon earth; 
Or else all else is vain 

Since life on earth began, 
And the spent world sinks back again 

Hopeless of God and Man. 



A People and their King 

Through ancient sin grown strong, 
Because they feared no reckoning 

Would set no bound to wrong; 
But now their hour is past, 

And we who bore it find 
Evil Incarnate held at last 

To answer to mankind. 



For agony and spoil 
Of nations beat to dust, 

For poisoned air and tortured soil 
And cold, commanded lust, 

And every secret woe 

The shuddering waters saw — 

Willed and fulfilled by high and low- 
Let them relearn the Law. 



That when the dooms are read, 

Not high nor low shall say: — 
"My haughty or my humble head 

Has saved me in this day." 
That, till the end of time, 

Their remnant shall recall 
Their fathers' old, confederate crime 

Availed them not at all. 



448 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

That neither schools nor priests, 

Nor Kings may build again 
A people with the heart of beasts 

Made wise concerning men. 
Whereby our dead shall sleep 

In honour, unbetrayed, 
And we in faith and honour keep 

That peace for which they paid. 



SEVEN WATCHMEN 
i 9 i 8 

CEVEN Watchmen sitting in a tower, 

Watching what had come upon mankind, 
Showed the Man the Glory and the Power, 

And bade him shape the Kingdom to his mind. 
"All things on Earth your will shall win you." 

('Twas so their council ran) 
"But the Kingdom — the Kingdom is within you,' 

Said the Man's own mind to the Man. 
For time — and some time — 
As it was in the bitter years before 

So it shall be in the over-sweetened hour — 
That a man's mind is wont to tell him more 

Than Seven W 7 atchmen sitting in a tower. 



TO THOMAS ATKINS 

(Prelude to Barrack Room Ballads) 

J HAVE made for you a song, 
And it may be right or wrong, 

But only you can tell me if it's true; 
I have tried for to explain 
Both your pleasure and your pain y 

And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 449 

there II surely come a day 

When they'll give you all your pay ■, 
And treat you as a Christian ought to do; 

So y until that day comes round, 

Heaven keep you safe and sound, 
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you I 



BOBS 

{Field Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar) 

^HERE'S a little red-faced man, 

Which is Bobs, 
Rides the tallest 'orse 'e can — 

Our Bobs. 
If it bucks or kicks or rears, 
'E can sit for twenty years 
With a smile round both 'is ears — 

Can't yer, Bobs? 

Then 'ereVto Bobs Bahadur — little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! 
'E's our pukka Kandahader — 

Fightm Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! 
'E's the Dook of Aggy Chel 1 ; 
'E's the man that done us well, 
An' we'll follow 'im to 'ell — 

Won't we, Bobs? 

If a limber's slipped a trace, 

'Ook on Bobs. 
If a marker's lost 'is place, 

Dress by Bobs. 

*Get ahead. 



45o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For 'e's eyes all up 'is coat, 
An' a bugle in 'is throat, 
An' you will not play the goat 
Under Bobs. 

'E's a little down on drink 
Chaplain Bobs; 
But it keeps us outer Clink — 

Don't it, Bobs? 
So we will not complain 
Tho' 'e's water on the brain, 
If 'e leads us straight again — 
Blue-limit Bobs. 



If you stood 'im on 'is head, 

Father Bobs, 
You could spill a quart of lead 

Outer Bobso 
'E's been at it thirty years, 
An-amassin' souveneers 
In the way o' slugs an' spears — 

Ain't yer Bobs? 

What 'e does not know o' war, 

Gen'ral Bobs, 
You can arst the shop next door — 

Can't they, Bobs? 
Oh, 'e's little but he's wise; 
'E's terror for 'is size, 
An ' — V — does — not — advertize — 

Do yer, Bobs? 

Now they've made a bloomin' Lord 

Outer Bobs, 
Which was but 'is fair reward — 

Weren't it, Bobs? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 451 

So VII wear a coronet 
Where 'is 'elmet used to set; 
But we know you won't forget — 
Will yer, Bobs? 



Then 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur — little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs, 
Pocket-Wellin'ton 'an arder^ — 

Fightin' Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! 
This ain't no bloomin' ode, 
But you've 'elped the soldier's load, 
An' for benefits bestowed, 

Bless yer, Bobs! 



DANNY DEEVER 

\\7"HAT are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade. 
"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour-Sergeant 
said. 
"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on- 
Parade. 
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Colour-Sergeant 
said. 
For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the 

Dead March play, 
The regiment's in 'ollow square — they're hangin' him 

to-day; 
They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, 
An* they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. 

1 And a half. 



452 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on- 

Parade. 
"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
"Whit makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on- 

Parade. 
44 A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 

'im round, 
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the 

ground; 
An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' 

hound — 
O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! 

"Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. 
"'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
44 I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. 
44, E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 

'is place, 
For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — you must look 'im in the 

face; 
Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the Regiment's disgrace, 
While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. 

44 What's that so black agin the sun ? " said Files-on-Parade. 
"It's Danny flghtin' 'ard for life," the Colour-Sergeant said. 
44 W T hat's that that whimpers over'ead ? " said Files-on-Parade. 
44 It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Colour-Sergeant 
said. 
For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the 

quickstep play, 
The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin* us away; 
Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their 

beer to-day, 
After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin' ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 453 

TOMMY 

[ WENT into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, 

The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here." 
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, 
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I: 

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go 

away"; 
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band 

begins to play — 
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to 

P la Y> 
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band 
begins to play. 



I went into a theatre as sober as could be, 
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; 
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-' alls, 
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the 
stalls! 
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait 
outside"; 
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's 

on the tide — 
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on 

the tide, 
O it's "Special train for x^tkins" when the trooper's on 
the tide. 



Yes, makin* mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep 
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an* they're starvation cheap; 
An 1 hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit 
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. 



454 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 

'ow's yer soul?" 
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin 

to roll — 
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, 
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to 

roll. 



We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards 

too, 
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; 
x^n' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, 
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints; 
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 

fall be'ind," 
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's 

trouble in the wind — 
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in 

the wind, 
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble 
in the wind. 



You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all : 
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. 
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face 
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace. 

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him 

out, the brute!" 
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to 

shoot; 
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you 

please; 
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool — you bet that Tommy 
sees ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 455 

" FUZZY- WUZZY" 

{Soudan Expeditionary Force) 

VV/'EVE fought with many men acrost the ssas, 

An* some of 'em was brave an' some was not: 
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese; 

But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. 
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im : 

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 
'E cut our sentries up at Sua£/77z, 
An* *e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the 

Soudan; 
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' 

man; 
We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed 
We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're 
inclined. 



We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, 

The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, 
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, 

An* a Zulu impi dished us up in style: 
But ali we ever got from such as they 

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; 
We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, 

But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oiler. 

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzv-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the 

kid; 
Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' 
did. 



456 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; 
But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy- Wuz, you broke 
the square. 

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 

'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, 
So we must certify the skill 'e's shown, 

In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: 
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush 

With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear, 
An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush 
Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, an' your friends which are 

no more, 
If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to 

deplore. 
But give an' take's the gospel, an we'll call the bargain 

fair, 
For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the 
square ! 

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, 

An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead; 
'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, 

An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! 

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 
'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn 
For a Regiment o' British Infantree! 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the 

Soudan; 
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class nghtin' 

man; 
An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead 

of 'air — 
You big black boundin' beggar — for you broke a British 
square! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 45 



SOLDIER, SOLDIER 

COLDIER, soldier come from the wars, 

"Why don't you march with my true love?" 
"We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's, maybe, give the slip, 
"An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

New love! True love! 

Best go look for a new love, 

The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your 

eyes, 
An' you'd best go look for a new love. 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

What did you see o' my true love?" 

I seen 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green. 

An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Did ye see no more o' my true love?" 

I seen 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly — 

But you'd best go look for a new love." 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Did aught take 'arm to my true love?" 

I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white — 

And you'd best go look for a new love." 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

I'll up an' tend to my true love!" 

'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead, 

An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

I'll down an' die with my true love I" 

The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty more beside 'im— 

An' you'd best go look for a new love." 



458 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

''Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 
"Do you bring no sign from my true love?" 
"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e alius used to wear, 
"An* you'd best go look for a new love." 

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

"O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!" 

"An' I tell you truth again — when you've lost the feel o' pain 

"You'd best take me for your new love." 

True love ! New love ! 

Best take 'im for a new love, 

The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your 

eyes 
An' you'd best take 'im for your new love. 



SCREW-GUNS 

CMOKIN' my pipe on the mountings, snimn' the mornin* 

cool, 

I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule, 

With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets 

It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets 

— 'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns — the screw-guns they all 

love you! 
So when we call round with a few guns, o' course you will 
know what to do — hoo! hoo! 
Jest send in your Chief an' surrender — it's worse if you 
fights or you runs: 
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, 
but you don't get away from the guns! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 459 

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes 

where they ain't. 
We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick 

o' the paint: 
We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedee- 

man fits, 
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are 

built in two bits— Tss! Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns . . . 



If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow 

to behave; 
If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 

'is grave. 
You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without 

snatchin' or fuss. 
D' you say that you sweat with the field-guns ? By God, you 

must lather with us— 'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns . . . 



The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' be- 
low, 

We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out on the 
rocks an' the snow, 

An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to 
the plains 

The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules — the jinglety-jink o' 
the chains —'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns . . . 

There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a wheel on 

the edge o' the Pit, 
An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar 

can spit: 



460 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an* the sun 

off the snow in your face, 
x^n' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er 

place — 'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns . . . 

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin'-cool, 
I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule* 
The monkey can say what our road was — the wild-goat 'e 

knows where we passed. 
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag-ropes! 
With shrapnel ! Hold fast— 'Tss ! 'Tss ! 
For you all love the screw-guns — the screw-guns they 

all love you ! 
So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course you will 

know what to do — hoo ! hoo ! 
Jest send in your Chief an' surrender — it's worse if 

you fights or you runs: 
You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, 
but you can't get away from the guns! 



CELLS 

I'VE a head like a concertina, I've a tongue like a button- 
stick, 
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little 

sick, 
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard; I've made the 

cinders fly, 
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking 

the Corporal's eye. 

With a second-hand overcoat under my head, 
And a beautiful view of the yard, 
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 461 

Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! 
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 

I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer, 

But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that 

brought me here. 
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose 

in the dirt — 
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the best of the 

Corp'ral's shirt. 

I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road, 
And Lord knows where — and I don't care — my belt and my 

tunic goed. 
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to 

wear, 
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll 

keep it there! 

My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack- 

J ard > 
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room — it's that that cuts so 

hard. 

I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain, 

But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it 

again ! 

With a second-hand overcoat under my head, 

And a beautiful view of the yard, 
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 

For "drunk and resisting the Guard!" 

Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 

'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! 
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 

For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 



462 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

GUNGA DIN 

VOU may talk o' gin and beer 

When you're quartered safe out 'ere, 
An* you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; 
But when it comes to slaughter 
You will do your work on water, 
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. 
Now in Injia's sunny clime, 
Where I used to spend my time 
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, 
Of all them blackfaced crew 
The finest man I knew 
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. 

He was "Din! Din! Din! 
"You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! 

"Hi! Slippy hitherao ! 

"Water, get it! Panee lao 1 
"You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." 



The uniform 'e wore 

Was nothin' much before, 

An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 

For a piece o' twisty rag 

An' a goatskin water-bag 

Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. 

When the sweatin' troop-train lay 

In a sidin' through the day, 

W T here the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl 

We shouted "Harry By!" 2 

Till our throats were bricky-dry, 

Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. 



Bring water swiftly. -O brother. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 463 

It was "Din! Din! Din! 
"You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? 

"You put some juldee 1 in it 
"Or I'll marrow 2 you this minute 
'If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!" 



'E would dot an' carry one 
Till the longest day was done; 
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. 
If we charged or broke or cut, 
You could bet your bloomin' nut, 
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 
With 'is mussick 3 on 'is back, 
'E would skip with our attack, 
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire" 
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 
'E was white, clear white, inside 
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! 
It was "Din! Din! Din!" 

With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green 
When the cartridges ran out, 
You could hear the front-ranks shout, 

"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" 



I sha'n't forgit the night 

When I" dropped be'ind the fight 

With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been, 

I was chokin' mad with thirst, 

An' the man that spied me first 

Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 

'E lifted up my 'ead, 

An' he plugged me where I bled, 

'Be quick. 2 Hit you. 3 Water-skin. 



464 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water green. 
It was crawlin' and it stunk, 
But of all the drinks I've drunk, 
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. 
It was "Din! Din! Din! 
"'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen^ 
"'E's chawin' up the ground, 
"An' 'e's kickin' all around: 
"For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!" 

'E carried me away 
To where a dooli lay, 

An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 
'E put me safe inside, 
An' just before 'e died, 

"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din. 
So I'll meet 'im later on 
At the place where 'e is gone — 
Where it's always double drill and no canteen. 
'E'll be squattin' on the coals 
Givin' drink to poor damned souls, 
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! 
Yes, Din! Din! Din! 

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! 

Though I've belted you and flayed you, 
By the livin' Gawd that made you, 

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din! 



OONTS 

{Northern India Transport Train) 

WfOT makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to 

perspire? 
It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire; 
But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road 
For the commissariat camel an' 'is commissariat load. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 465 

O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commissariat oont! 
With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' 
snakes; 
We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 'ear 'im grunt, 
An' when we get 'im loaded up 'is blessed girth-rope 
breaks. 

Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night is drorin' 

in, 
An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? 
It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the 'ills, 
It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin' frills! 
O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont! 

A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night 
alarm ! 
W 7 e socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 'im off in 
front, 
An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e chaws our 
bloomin' arm. 

The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool, 
The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule; 
But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done, 
'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. 

O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont! 

The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies, 
'E's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to 
the front, 
An' when we get him up again — the beggar goes an' 
dies! 

'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight — 'e smells most awful vile. 

'Ell lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile. 

'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night 

through. 
An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two. 

darnel: — oo is pronounced like u in "bull," but by Mr. Atkins to rhyme 

with "front." 



466 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' cont! 
When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye 
is dim, 
The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out in front- 
It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an* crows for 
'im. 



So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind, 
An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind, 
Ho! then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: 
'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at last. 
O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont! 

The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies; 
We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a mile in front, 
But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course 
we dies. 



LOOT 

TF YOU'VE ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's 
back, 
If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, 
If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 'aversack, 

You will understand this little song o' mine. 
But the service rules are 'ard, an' from such we are debarred, 
For the same with English morals does not suit. 
(Cornet-. Toot! toot!) 
Why, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' clobber 1 

With the — 
(Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! 
loot! loot! 

Ow the loot! 
Bloomin' loot! 

Clothes. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 467 

That's the thing to make the boys git up an shoot: 
It's the same with dogs an' men, 
If you'd make 'em come again 
Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! 
(ff) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! 
Loot! loot! loot! 



If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e *s thrustin' for 
your life, 
You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell; 
An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn't feel 'is 
knife 
That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well. 
Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars 
under 
Why lootin' should be entered as a crime. 
So, if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an clear 
'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime. 
(Chorus) With the loot, . . . 



Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma 
god 
That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; 
An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod 

'E's like to show you everything 'e owns. 
When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the 
floor 
Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot 
(Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 
When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down 
the chink, 
An' you're sure to touch the — 
(Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! 
Ow the loot! . . . 



4 68 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're \inting, you must always 
work in pairs — 
It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find — 
For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs, 

An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind. 
When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a 
doubt 
As if there weren't enough to dust a flute 
[Cornet: Toot! toot!) — 
Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops take a look, 
For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot. 
{Chorus) Ow the loot! . . . 



You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster too, 

If you only take the proper way to go. 
/ could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you all 2 
knew — 
But don't you never say I told you so. 
An' now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin' rather dry, 
An' I see another tunin' up to toot 
{Cornet: Toot! toot) — 
So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's clo'es, 
An' the Devil send 'em all they want o' loot! 
{Chorus) Yes, the loot, 
Bloomin' loot! 
In the tunic an' the mess-tin an' the boot! 
It's the same with dogs an' men, 
If you'd make 'em come again. 
(Iff) W 7 hoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot', 
loot! loot! 
Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! 
loot! loot! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 469 

"SNARLEYOW" 

HpHIS 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps 

Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war; 
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now, 
But Two's off-lead 1 'e answered to the name o' Snarleyow. 

Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 

Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 

But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog 

Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog! 



They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore, 

To learn a little schoolin' to a native army-corps, 

They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the 

brow, 
When a tricky trundlin* roundshot give the knock to Snarle- 
yow. 



They cut 'im loose an' left 'im — 'e was almost tore in two — 
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do; 
'E went an ? fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother 

squeals: 
"Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow — 'is head's between 'is 'eels ! " 



The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin* 

round, 
An' there ain't no "Stop, conductor!" when a batt'ry's 

changin' ground; 
Sez 'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels, 
"But I could n't pull up, not for you — your 'ead between 

your 'eels!" 

l The leading right-hand horse of Xo. 2 gun. 



47o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

'E 'ad n't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell 
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell; 
An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber- 
wheels, 
There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels. 

Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain, 
"For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain." 
They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was 

best, 
So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' 

chest. 

The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt, 
But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action 

Front!" 
An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head 
'T was juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread. 

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: 
You 'av n't got no families when servin' of the Queen — 
You 'av n't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons — 
If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' 
guns'. 

Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 

Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 

But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog 

Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog! 



THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 

' AVE you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 

With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead? 
She 'as ships on the foam — she 'as millions at ome, 
An' she pays us poor beggars in red. 
(Ow, poor beggars in red!) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 47 r 

There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, 

There's 'er mark on the medical stores — 
An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind 
That takes us to various wars. 

(Poor beggars! — barbarious wars!) 

Then 'ere 's to the Widow at Windsor, 
An' 'ere 's to the stores an' the guns, 
The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces 

O' Missis Victorier's sons. 
(Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) 

Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, 

For 'alf o' Creation she owns: 
We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame. 
An' we've salted it down with our bones. 
(Poor beggars! — it 's blue with our bones!) 
Hands off o' the sons o' the widow, 
Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, 
For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown 
When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop!" 
(Poor beggars! — we're sent to say "Stop!") 
Then 'ere 's to the Lodge o' the Widow, 

From the Pole to the Tropics it runs — 
To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file. 

An' open in form with the guns. 
(Poor beggars! — it's always they guns!) 

We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, 

It's safest to leave 'er alone: 
For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land 

Wherever the bugles are blown. 

(Poor beggars! — an' don't we get blown!) 
Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', 

An' flop round the earth till you're dead; 
But you won't get away from the tune that they play 

To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. 
(Poor beggars! — it 's 'ot over'ead!) 



+72 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then 'ere 's to the sons o' the Widow, 
Wherever, 'owever they roam. 

'Ere 's all they desire, an' if they require 
A speedy return to their 'ome. 

(Poor beggars! — they'll never see 'ome!) 



BELTS 

PHERE was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin 

Quay, 
Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; 
It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: 
The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the 
Park. 
For it was: — "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for 

you ! " 
An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for 

you!" 
O buckle an' tongue 
Was the song that we sung 
From Harrison's down to the Park ! 

There was a row in Silver Street — the regiments was out, 
They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered "Threes 

about!" 
That drew them like a hornet's nest — we met them good an' 

large, 
The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge. 
Then it was: — "Belts, &c." 

There was a row in Silver Street — an' I was in it too; 
We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru! 
I misremember what occurred, but, subsequint the storm, 
A Freeman 's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. 
O it was: — "Belts, &c." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 473 

There was a row in Silver Street — they sent the Polis there, 
The English were too drunk to know, the Irish did n't care; 
But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose, 
Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. 
For it was: — " Belts, &c." 



There was a row in Silver Street — it might ha' raged till now, 
But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how; 
*T was Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red 

blood run: 
An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. 
While it was: "Belts, &c." 



There was a row in Silver Street — but that put down the 

shine, 
Wid each man whisperin' to his next: — "'T was never work 

o mine! 
We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore 

him, 
The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys were sorry 

for him. 

When it was: — "Belts, &c." 



There was a row in Silver Street — it isn't over yet, 
For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get; 
'T is all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: 
There was a row in Silver Street — begod, I wonder why ! 

But it was: — "Belts, belts, belts, an' that'j one for 

you! 
An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for 
you'" 



O buckle an' tongue 

Was the song that we sung 

From Harrison's down to the Park! 



474 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 

"\Vf HEN the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 

'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, 
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased 
Ere 'e 's fit for to serve as a soldier. 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
So-oldier of the Queen ! 

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, 
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, 
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: 
A soldier what's fit for a soldier. 
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . . 

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, 
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts- 
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts — 
An* it's bad for the young British soldier. 
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . . 

When the cholera comes — as it will past a doubt — 
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, 
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, 
An* it crumples the young British soldier. 

Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . . 

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: 
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: 
If 'e finds you uncovered Vll knock you down dead, 
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. 
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . . 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 475 

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, 
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; 
Be handy and civil, and then you will find 

That it's beer for the young British soldier. 
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . . 

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old — 
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest, I'm told, 
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, 
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier. 

'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . . 

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loth 
To shoot when you catch 'em — you'll swing, on my oath!— 
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both, 
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. 
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . . 

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck 
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck. 
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck 
And march to your front like a soldier. 

Front, front, front like a soldier . . . 

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, 
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; 
She's human as you are — you treat her as sich, 
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. 
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . . 

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, 
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line, 
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, 
For noise never startles the soldier. 

Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . . 



476 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, 
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: 
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, 
And wait for supports like a soldier. 

Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . . 

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, 
And the women come out to cut up what remains, 
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out vour brains 
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
So-oldier of the Queen ! 



MANDALAY 

DY THE old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the 
sea, 
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; 
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they 

say: 
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to 
Mandalay!" 

Come you back to Mandalay, 

Where the old Flotilla lay: 

Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon 

to Mandalay? 
On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-fishes play, 

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 
'crost the Bay! 

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, 
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat — jes' the same as Theebaw's 
Queen, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 477 

An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, 
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: 
Bloomin' idol made o' mud — 
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd — 
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where 

she stud! 
On the road to Mandalay . . . 

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' 

slow, 
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing " Kulla-lo-lo /" 
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an* 'er cheek agin my cheek 
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. 

Elephints a-pilin' teak 

In the sludgy, squdgy creek, 

Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid 
to speak! 

On the road to Mandalay . . . 

But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an' fur away, 
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Man- 
dalay; 
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: 
''If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed 
naught else." 

No! you won't 'eed nothin' else 

But them spicy garlic smells, 

An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly 

temple-bells; 
On the road to Mandalay . . . 

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, 
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; 
'Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the 

Strand, 
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand ? 



478 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Beefy face an' grubby 'and — 

Law! wot do they understand? 

I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener 

land! 
On the road to Mandalay . . . 

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the 

worst, 
Where there are n't no Ten Commandments an' a man can 

raise a thirst; 
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be — 
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; 
On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the old Flotilla lay, 
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to 

Mandalay! 
O the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-fishes play, 

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 
'crost the Bay! 



TROOPIN' 

(Old English Army in the East) 

HTROOPIN', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 

'Ere's September come again — the six-year men are free. 
O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away 
To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to-day. 
We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 

Our ship is at the shore, 
An' you must pack your 'aversack, 

For we won't come back no more. 
Ho, don't you grieve for me, 
My lovely Mary-Ann, 
For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 
As a time-expired man. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 479 

The Malabar s in 'arbour with the Jumner at 'er tail, 
An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail. 
Ho! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, 
But the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders 'ome to-day. 

They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' wet an* 

rain, 
All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain. 
They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that's their little way — 
But damn the chills and fever,- men, we're goin' 'ome to-day I 

Troopin', troopin', winter's round again! 

See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; 

Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay — 

What's the last from Lunnon, lads ? We're goin' there to-day. 

Troopin', troopin', give another cheer — 
'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer. 
The Colonel an' the Regiment an' all who 've got to stay, 
Gawd's Mercy strike 'em gentle — Whoop! we're goin' 'ome 
to-day. 

We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 

Our ship is at the shore, 
An' you must pack your 'aversack, 

For we won't come back no more. 
Ho, don't you grieve for me, 

My lovely Mary-Ann, 
For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 
As a time-expired man. 



THE WIDOW'S PARTY 

Vl/'HERE have you been this while away, 
Johnnie, Johnnie?" 

Out with the rest on a picnic lay. 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 



480 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They called us out of the barrack-yard 
To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard, 
And you can't refuse when you get the card, 

And the Widow gives the party. 
{Bugle: Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara !) 

"What did you get to eat and drink 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
Standing water as thick as ink, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
A bit o' beef that were three year stored, 
A bit o' mutton as tough as a board, 
And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword, 

When the Widow give the party. 

"What did you do for knives and forks, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
We carries 'em with us wherever we walks, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
And some was sliced and some was halved, 
And some was crimped and some was carved, 
And some was gutted and some was starved* 

When the Widow give the party. 

"What ha' you done with half your mess, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
They could n't do more and they would n't do less, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
They ate their whack and they drank their fill, 
And I think the rations has made them ill, 
For half my comp'ny's lying still 

Where the Widow give the party. 

"How did you get away — away, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 481 

I corned away like a bleedin' toff, 
For I got four niggers to carry me off, 
As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough, 

When the Widow give the party. 

" What was the end of all the show, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
Ask my Colonel, for I don't know, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
We broke a King and we built a road — 
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed. 
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed 

When the Widow give the party. 
{Bugle: Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara !) 



FORD O' KABUL RIVER 

TZ"ABUL town's by Kabul river — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword- 
There I lef my mate for ever, 
Wet an' drippin' by the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf 
a squadron swimmin' 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 

Kabul town's a blasted place — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face 
Wet an' drippin' by the ford! 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will 
surely guide you 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 



482 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Kabul town is sun and dust — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
I'd ha' sooner drownded fust 
'Stead of 'im beside the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the 
men a-splashin', 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 



Kabul town was ours to take — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
I'd ha' left it for 'is sake — 
'Im that left me by the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never 
comin' nigh there, 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark? 



Kabul town '11 go to hell — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
'Fore I see him 'live an' well — 
'Im the best beside the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots '11 pull 
'em under, 
Bv the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 



Turn your 'orse from Kabul town — 
Blow the bugle, draw the sword — - 

'Im an' 'arf my troop is down, 
Down and drownded by the ford. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 483 

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 

Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
There's the river low an' fallirT, but it ain't no use 
o' callin' 

'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 



GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

HpO THE legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the 
damned, 
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas, 
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely cram- 
med, 
And a trooper of the Empress, if you please. 
Yes, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses, 

And faith he went the pace and went it blind, 
And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin, 
But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind. 
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 

Baa! Baa! Baa! 
We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 

Baa — aa — aa! 
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, 
Damned from here to Eternity, 
God ha' mercy on such as we, 
Baa! Yah! Bah! 

Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty 
kitchen slops, 

And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell, 
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops 

And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well. 
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your troop, 

And branded with a blasted worsted spur, 
When you envy,0 how keenly, one poor Tommy living cleanly 

Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you "Sir." 



4S4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep, 

xAnd all we know most distant and most dear, 
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep, 

Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer? 
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard- 
lantern gutters 

And the horror of our fall is written plain, 
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching whitewashed ceil- 
ing, 

Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain? 

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love 
and Truth, 
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung, 
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth, 

God help us, for we knew the worst too young! 
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the 
sentence, 
Our pride it is to know no spur of pride, 
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us 
And we die, and none can tell Them where we died. 
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 

Baa! Baa? Baa! 
We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 

Baa — aa — aa! 
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, 
Damned from here to Eternity, 
God ha' mercv on such as we, 
Baa! Yah! Bah! 



ROUTE MARCHIN' 

E'RE marchm* on relief over Injia's sunny plains, 
A little front o' Christmas-time an' just be'ind the Rains- 
Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed, 
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; 



W 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 485 

With its best foot first 

And the road a-sliding past, 

An' every blooming campin'-ground exactly like the 

last; 
While the Big Drum says, 
W 7 ith 'is " rowdy-dowdy-dow /" — 
" Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow • ? " 1 

Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see. 
There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the 

*V, tre f> 
An' there's that rummy silver-grass a-wavin' in the wind, 

An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind. 

While it's best foot first, . . 

At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must 

come, 
Like a lot of button-mushrooms when you pick 'em up at 

'ome. 
But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts, 
While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts. 

An' it's best foot first, . . . 

Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an' sings, 
An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other things, 
An' we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders what 

they're at, 
An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat. 2 

An' it's best foot first, . . . 

It's none so bad o' Sundays, when you're lyin' at your ease, 
To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather-'eaded 
trees, 

i\Yhy don't you get on? 2 Language. Thomas's first and firmest 

conviction is that he is a profound Orientalist and a fluent speaker of 
Hindustani. As a matter of fact, he depends largely on the sign-language. 



486 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't nobarrick- 

yards, 
So the orficers goes shootin , an* the men they plays at cards. 

Till it's best foot first, . . . 

So 'ark an* 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore, 
There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawn- 

P ° re; , 
x^n* if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell, 

You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em 

well. 

For it's best foot first, . . . 

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand, 

Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band; 

Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle 

blowed, 
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; 

With its best foot first 

And the road a-sliding past, 

An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the 
last; 

While the Big Drum says, 

With 'is " rowdy -dowdy -dow I" — 

" Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argyjow ? " 



SHILLIN' A DAY 

J^JY NAME is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly 

From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, 
Hong-Kong and Peshawur. 
Lucknow and Etawah, 
And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore." 
Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness, 
Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way, 
But I'm old and I'm nervis, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 487 

I'm cast from the Service, 

And all I deserve is a shillin' a day. 

(Chorus) Shillin' a day, 

Bloomin' good pay — 

Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day! 

Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I 

Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side, 

When we rode Hell-for-leather 

Both squadrons together, 

That didn't care whether we lived or we died. 

But it's no use despairing my wife must go charm' 

An' me commissairin', the pay-bills to better, 

So if me you be'old 

In the wet and the cold, 

By the Grand Metropold won't you give me a letter? 

(Full chorus) Give 'im a letter — 
'Can't do no better, 
Late Troop-Sergeant-Major an' — runs with 

a letter! 
Think what 'e's been, 
Think what 'e's seen. 

Think of his pension an' 

Gawd save the Queen! 



"BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN" 

T'M 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at, 

A-layin' on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat; 
My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' 

my boots, 
An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new 

recruits! 



488 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card, 

I'm back to the Army again! 

I done my six years' service. 'Er Majesty sez: "Good day — 
You'll please to come when you're rung for, an' 'ere's your 

'ole back-pay; 
An' four-pence a day for baccy — an' bloomin' gen'rous, too; 
An' now you can make your fortune — the same as your 

orf'cers do." 



Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
'Ow did I learn to do right-about-turn? 

I'm back to the Army again! 

A man o' four-an'-twenty that 'asn't learned of a trade — 
Beside "Reserve" agin' him — 'e'd better be never made. 
I tried my luck for a quarter, an' that was enough for me, 
An' I thought of 'Er Majesty's barricks, an' I thought I'd 
go an' see. 



Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
'T isn't my fault if I dress when I 'alt- 

I'm back to the Army again! 



The sergeant arst no questions, but 'e winked the other eye, 
'E sez to me, " 'Shun! " an' I shunted, the same as in days 

gone by; 
For 'e saw the set o' my shoulders, an' I couldn't 'elp 'oldirT 

straight 
When me an' the other rookies come under the barrick-gate. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 489 

Back to the Army again, sergeant 

Back to the Army again. 
'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port? 1 

I'm back to the Army again! 

I took my bath, an' I wallered — for, Gawd, I needed it so! 

I smelt the smell o' the barricks, I 'eard the bugles go. 

I 'eard the feet on the gravel — the feet o' the men what 

drill— 
An' I sez to mv flutterin' 'eart-strings, I sez to 'em, "Peace, 

be still!'' 

Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
'Oo said I knew when the troopship was due? 

I'm back to the Army again! 

I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to 'im, "None o' your 

lip! 
You tight 'em over the shoulders, an* loose 'em over the 'ip, 
For the set o' the tunic's 'orrid." An* 'e sez to me, "Strike 

me dead, 
But I thought you was used to the business!" an' so 'e done 

what I said. 

Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
Rather too free with my fancies? Wot — me? 

I'm back to the Army again! 

Next week I'll 'ave 'em fitted; I'll buy me a swagger-cane; 
They'll let me free o' the barricks to walk on the Hoe again 
In the name o' William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay, 
An' — any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence 
a day! 

1 Carry and port his rifle. 



49o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Back to the Army again, sergeant, 

Back to the Army again. 
Out o' the cold an' the rain, sergeant, 

Out o' the cold an' the rain. 

'Oo's there? 

A man that's too good to be lost you, 

A man that is 'andled an' made — 
A man that will pay what 'e cost you 

In learnin' the others their trade — parade! 
You're droppin' the pick o' the Army 

Because you don't 'elp 'em remain, 
But drives 'em to cheat to get out o' the street 

An' back to the Army again ! 



"BIRDS OF PREY" MARCH 

{Troops for Foreign Service) 

TV/I ARCH! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies. 
Front! — eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip. 
Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses 
Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship. 

Cheer ! An we'll never march to victory. 

Cheer I An we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar I 

The Large Birds o' Prey 

They will carry us away y 
An* you 11 never see your soldiers any more ! 

Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we're goin' round a corner 
Time! — mark time, an' let the men be'ind us close. 

Lord! The transport's full, an' 'alf our lot not on 'er — 
Cheer, O cheer! We're going ofF where no one knows. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 491 

March! The Devil's none so black as 'e is painted! 

Cheer! We'll 'ave some fun before we're put away. 
'Alt an' 'and 'er out — a woman's gone and fainted! 

Cheer! Get on! — Gawd 'elp the married men to-day! 



Hoi! Come up, you 'ungry beggars, to yer sorrow. 

('Ear them say they want their tea, an' want it quick!) 
You won't have no mind for slingers, 1 not to-morrow — 

No; you'll put the 'tween-decks stove out, bein' sick! 



'Alt! The married kit 'as all to go before us! 

'Course it's blocked the bloomin' gangway up again! 
Cheer, O cheer the 'Orse Guards watchin' tender o'er us, 

Keepin' us since eight this mornin' in the rain! 



Stuck in 'eavy marchin'-order, sopped and wringin' — 
Sick, before our time to watch 'er 'eave an' fall, 

'Ere's your 'appy 'ome at last, an' stop your singin'. 
'Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all! 



Cheer ! For we'll never live to see no bloomin victory ! 
Cheer ! An we'll never live to y ear the cannon roar ! 
(One cheer more !) 

The jackal an the kite 

y Ave an 'ealthy appetite, 
An you'll never see your soldiers any more ! ('Ip ! Urroar !) 

The eagle an the crow 

They are waitin ever so, 
An you II never see your soldiers any more ! ('Ip Urroar !) 

Yes, the Large Birds 0' Prey 

They will carry us away, 
An you'll never see your soldiers any more I 

1 Bread soaked in tea. 



492 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"SOLDIER AN' SAILOR TOO" 

{The Royal Regiment of Marines) 

AS I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the Crocodile, 
I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up in the Reg'lars' 

style. 
'E was scrapin' the paint from off of 'er plates, an' I sez to 

im, Oo are your 
Sez 'e, "I'm a Jolly — 'Er Majesty's Jolly — soldier an' sailor 

too!" 
Now 'is work begins by Gawd knows when, and 'is work is 

never through; 
'E isn't one o' the reg'lar Line, nor 'e isn't one of the crew. 
'E's a kind of a giddy harumfrodite — soldier an' sailor too! 

An', after, I met 'im all over the world, a-doin' all kinds of 

things, 
Like landin' 'isself with a Gatlin' gun to talk to them 'eathen 

kings; 
'E sleeps in an 'ammick instead of a cot, an' 'e drills with the 

deck on a slew, 
An' 'e sweats like a Jolly — 'Er Majesty's Jolly — soldier 

an' sailor too! 
For there isn't a job on the top o' the earth the beggar don't 

know, nor do — 
You can leave 'im at night on a bald man's 'ead, to paddle 'is 

own canoe — 
'E's a sort of a bloomin' cosmopolouse — soldier an' sailor 

too. 

We've fought 'em in trooper, we've fought 'em in dock, and 

drunk with 'em in betweens, 
When they called us the seasick scull'ry-maids, an' we called 

'em the Ass-Marines; 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 495 

But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich 

to Bernardmyo, 
We sent for the Jollies — 'Er Majesty's Jollies — soldier an' 

sailor too! 
They think for 'emselves, an' they steal for 'emselves, and 

they never ask what's to do, 
But they're camped an* fed an' they're up an' fed before our 

bugle's blew. 
Ho! they ain't no limpin' procrastitutes — soldier an' sailor 

too. 



You may say we are fond of an 'arness-cut, or 'ootin' in 

barrick-yards, 
Or startin' a Board School mutiny along o' the Onion Guards; 
But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the 

earth to view, 
The same as the Jollies — 'Er Majesty's Jollies — soldier 

an' sailor too! 
They come of our lot, they was brothers to us; they was 

beggars we'd met an' knew; 
Yes, barrin' an inch in the chest an' the arm, they was doubles 

o' me an' you; 
For they weren't no special chrysanthemums — soldier an' 

sailor too! 



To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all 
about, 

Is nothing so bad when you've cover to 'and, an' leave an' 
likin' to shout; 

But to stand an' be still to the Birken cad drill is a damn' 
tough bullet to chew, 

An' they done it, the Jollies — 'Er Majesty's Jollies — sol- 
dier an' sailor too! 

Their work was done when it 'adn't begun; they was younger 
nor me an' you; 



494 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Their choice it was plain between drownin' in 'eaps an' bein' 

mopped by the screw, 
So they stood an' was still to the Birkenead drill, soldier an' 

sailor too! 



We're most of us liars, we're 'arf of us thieves, an' the rest 

are as rank as can be, 
But once in a while we can finish in style (which I 'ope it 

won't 'appen to me). 
But it makes you think better o' you an' your friends, an' the 

work you may 'ave to do, 
When you think o' the sinkin' Victoriers Jollies — soldier an* 

sailor too! 
Now there isn't no room for to say ye don't know — they 

'ave proved it plain and true — 
That, whether it's Widow, or whether it's ship, Victorier's 

work is to do, 
An' they done it, the Jollies — 'Er Majesty's Jollies — sol- 
dier an' sailor too! 



SAPPERS 

[Royal Engineers) 

Al^HEN the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear, 

("It's all one," says the Sapper), 
The Lord He created the Engineer, 

Her Majesty's Royal Engineer, 

With the rank and pay of a Sapper! 

When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon, 
'T was Noah constructed the first pontoon 
To the plans of Her Majesty's, etc. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 495 

But after fatigue in the wet an' the sun, 
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn't ha' done 
If he'd trained with, etc. 

When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat} 
Some clever civilian was managing that, 
An' none of, etc. 

When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill, 
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still, 
For he was a Captain of Engineers, etc. 

When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw, 
They were learnin' the regular work of our Corps, 
The work of, etc. 

For ever since then, if a war they would wage, 
Behold us a-shinin' on history's page — 
First page for, etc. 

We lay down their sidings an' help 'em entrain, 
An' we sweep up their mess through the bloomin' campaign 
In the style of, etc. 

They send us in front with a fuse an' a mine 
To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line, 
But bent by, etc. 

They send us behind with a pick an' a spade, 
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade 
Which has asked for, etc. 

We work under escort in trousers and shirt, 
An' the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt, 
Annoying, etc. 

1 Talk. 



496 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We blast out the rock an' we shovel the mud, 
We make 'em good roads an' — they roll down the khud} 
Reporting, etc. 

We make 'em their bridges, their wells, an' their huts, 
An' the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts, 
An' it's blamed on, etc. 

An' when we return, an' from war we would cease, 
They grudge us adornin' the billets of peace, 
Which are kept for, etc. 

We build 'em nice barracks — they swear they are bad, 
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad, 
Insultin' etc. 

They haven't no manners nor gratitude too, 
For the more that we help 'em, the less will they do, 
But mock at, etc. 

Now the Line's but a man with a gun in his hand, 
An' Cavalry's only what horses can stand, 
When helped by, etc. 

Artillery moves by the leave o' the ground, 
But we are the men that do something all round, 
For we are, etc. 

I have stated it plain, an* my argument's thus 

("It's all one," says the Sapper) 
There's only one Corps which is perfect — that's uss 

An* they call us Her Majesty's Engineers, 

Her Majesty's Royal Engineers, 

With the rank and pay of a Sapper! 

1 Hillside. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 497 

THAT DAY 

TT GOT beyond all orders an' it got beyond all 'ope; 

It got to shammin' wounded an' retirin' from the 'alt, 
'Ole companies was lookin' for the nearest road to slope; 
It were just a bloomin' knock-out — an' our fault! 

Now there ain't no chorus 'ere to give, 

Nor there aint no band to play; 
An I wish I was dead 'fore I done what I did, 

Or seen what I seed that day ! 

We was sick o' bein' punished, an' we let 'em know it, too; 

An' a company-commander up an' 'it us with a sword, 
An' some one shouted "'Ook it!" an' it come to sove-ki-poo, 

An' we chucked our rifles from us — O my Gawd! 

There was thirty dead an' wounded on the ground we 

wouldn't keep — 
No, there wasn't more than twenty when the front begun 

to go- 
But, Christ! along the line o' flight they cut us up like sheep, 
An' that was all we gained by doin' so! 

I 'eard the knives be'ind me, but I dursn't face my man, 
Nor I don't know where I went to 5 'cause I didn't 'alt to 
see, 

Till I 'eard a beggar squealin' out for quarter as 'e ran, 
An' I thought I knew the voice an' — it was me! 

We was 'idin' under bedsteads more than 'arf a march away: 
We was lyin' up like rabbits all about the country-side; 
^n' the Major cursed 'is Maker 'cause 'e'd lived to see that 

? day, 
An' the Colonel broke 'is sword acrost, an' cried. 



498 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We was rotten 'fore we started — we was never disciplined; 

We made it out a favour if an order was obeyed. 
Yes, every little drummer 'ad 'is rights an' wrongs to mind, 

So we had to pay for teachin' — an' we paid! 

The papers 'id it 'andsome, but you know the Army knows; 

We was put to groomin' camels till the regiments withdrew. 
An' they gave us each a medal for subduin' England's foes, 

An' I 'ope you like my song — because it's true! 

An there ain't no chorus y ere to give. 

Nor there aint no band to play; 
But I wish I was dead 'fore I done what I did, 

Or seen what I seed that day ! 



"THE MEN THAT FOUGHT AT MINDEN" 

(In the Lodge of Instruction) 

HpHE men that fought at Minden, they was rookies in their 
time — 

So was them that fought at Waterloo! 
All the 'ole command, yuss, from Minden to Maiwand, 

They was once dam' sweeps like you! 

Then do not be discouraged, 'Eaven is your ' elper, 

We'll learn you not to forget; 
An you mustn't swear an curse, or you 11 only catch it 
worse, 

For we'll make you soldiers yet ! 

The men that fought at Minden, they 'ad stocks beneath 
their chins, 

Six inch 'igh an' more; 
But fatigue it was their pride, and they would not be denied 

To clean the cook-'ouse floor. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 499 

The men that fought at Minden, they had anarchistic bombs 
Served to 'em by name of 'and-grenades; 

But they got it in the eye (same as you will by-an'-by) 
When they clubbed their field-parades. 



The men that fought at Minden, they 'ad buttons up an' 
down, 

Two-an'-twenty dozen of 'em told; 
But they didn't grouse an' shirk at an hour's extry work, 

They kept 'em bright as gold. 

The men that fought at Minden, they was armed with mus- 
ke toons, 
Also, they was drilled by 'alberdiers; 
I don't know what they were, but the sergeants took good 
care 
They washed be'ind their ears. 



The men that fought at Minden, they 'ad ever cash in 'and 

Which they did not bank nor save, 
But spent it gay an' free on their betters — such as me — 

For the good advice I gave. 



iThe men that fought at Minden, they was civil — yuss, they 
was — 
Never didn't talk o' rights an' wrongs, 
But they got it with the toe (same as you will get it — so!) — 
For interrupting songs. 
; 



The men that fought at Minden, they was several other things 

Which I don't remember clear; 
But that's the reason why, now the six-year men are dry 

The rooks will stand the beer! 



;oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then do not be discouraged, 'Eaven is your 'elper, 

We'll learn you not to forget. 
An you mustn't swear an' curse, or you 11 only catch it 

worse, 
And we'll make you soldiers yet ? 

Soldiers yet, if you've got it in you — 

All for the sake of the Core; 
Soldiers yet, if we y ave to skin you — - 

Run an get the beer, Johnny Raw — Johnny Raw ! 

Ho ! run an get the beer, Johnny Raw ! ^ 



CHOLERA CAMP 

{Infantry in India) 

"\X/'E , VE got the cholerer in camp — it's worse than forty 

rights; 
We're dyin' in the wilderness the same as Isrulites; 
It's before us, an' be'ind us, an' we cannot get away, 
An' the doctor's just reported we've ten more to-day! 

Oh, strike your camp an go, the bugle 's callin , 

The Rains are fallin — 
The dead are bushed an stoned to keep 'em safe below. 
The Band's a-doin 'all she knows to cheer us; 
The Chaplain's gone and prayed to Gawd to 'ear us — 

To 'ear us — 
Lord, for it's a-kill'in of us so ! 

Since August, when it started, it's been stickin' to our tail, 
Though they've 'ad us out* by marches an' they've 'ad us 

back by rail; 
But it runs as fast as troop trains, and we cannot get away v 
An' the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 501 

There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink; 
It's much too wet for shootin'; we can only march and think; 
An' at evenin', down the nullahs ', we can 'ear the jackals say, 
"Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!" 



'T would make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin' 

things — 
Lieutenants takin' companies an' Captains takin' wings, 
An' Lances actin' Sergeants — eight file to obey — 
For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day! 



Our Colonel's white an' twitterly — 'e gets no sleep nor food, 
But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good. 
'E sends us 'eaps o' comforts, all bought from 'is pay — 
But there aren't much comfort 'andy on ten deaths a day. 



Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule 'e rides, 
An' the stuff he says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our 

sides! 
With 'is black coat-tails a-bobbin' to Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay ! 
'E's the proper kind o' padre for ten deaths a day. 



An' Father Victor 'elps 'im with our Roman Catholicks — 
He knows an 'eap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin'-tricks; 
An' the two they works together when it comes to play or 

pray. 
So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day. 

We've got the cholerer in camp — we've got it 'ot an' sweet. 
It ain't no Christmas dinner ( but it's 'elped an' we must eat; 
We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't 

An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day! 



502 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Then strike your camp an go, the Rains arefallin', 

The Bugle's callin ! 
The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below ! 
An them that do not like it they can lump it, 
An them that can not stand it they can jump it; 
We've got to die somewhere — some way — some'ow — ■ 
We might as well begin to do it now ! 
Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow, 
Knock out the pegs an 'old the corners — so ! 
Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an stow ! 
Oh, strike — oh, strike your camp an go ! 

{Gawd ' elp us !) 



THE LADIES 

PVE taken my fun where I've found it; 

I've rogued an' I've ranged in my time; 
I've 'ad my pickin' o' sweethearts, 

An' four o' the lot was prime. 
One was an 'arf-caste widow, 

One was a woman at Prome, 
One was the wife of ajemadar-sais, 1 

An' one is a girl at ome. 

Now I aren't no 'and with the ladies, 

For, takin 'em all along, 
You never can say till you've tried 'em, 

An then you are like to be wrong. 
There's times when you'll think that you mightn't, 

There' s times when you'll know that you might; 
But the things you will learn from the Yellow an Brow>i. 

They'll 'elp you a lot with the White I 

1 Head-groom. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 503 

I was a young un at 'Oogli, 

Shy as a girl to begin; 
Aggie de Castrer she made me, 

An' Aggie was clever as sin; 
Older than me, but my first un — 

More like a mother she were — 
Showed me the way to promotion an' pay, 



Then I was ordered to Burma, 

Actin' in charge o' Bazar, 
An' I got me a tiddy live 'eathen 

Through buyin' supplies off 'er pa. 
Funny an* yellow an' faithful — 

Doll in a teacup she were, 
But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair, 

An' I learned about women from 'er! 

Then we was shifted to Neemuch 

(Or I might ha' been keepin' 'er now), 
An' I took with a shiny she-devil, 

The wife of a nigger at Mhow; 
'Taught me the gipsy-folks' bolee; 1 

Kind o' volcano she were, 
For she knifed me one night 'cause I wished she was 
white, 

And I learned about women from 'er! 

Then I come 'ome in a trooper, 

'Long of a kid o' sixteen — 
'Girl from a convent at Meerut, 

The straightest I ever 'ave seen. 
Love at first sight was 'er trouble, 

She didn't know what it were; 
An' I wouldn't do such, 'cause I liked 'er too much, 

But — I learned about women from 'er! 



si 



an 



504 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I've taken my fun where I've found it, 

An' now I must pay for my fun, 
For the more you 'ave known o' the others 

The less will you settle to one; 
An' the end of it's sittin' and thinkin', 

An' dreamin' Hell-fires to see; 
So be warned by my lot (which I know you will not), 

An' learn about women from me! 

What did the Colonel's Lady think ? 

Nobody never knew. 
Somebody asked the Sergeant's Wife, 

An' she told 'em true ! 
When you get to a man in the case. 

They're like as a row of pins — 
For the Colonel's Lady an Judy 0' Grady 

Are sisters under their skins I 



BILL 'AWKINS 

" *A S ANYB0DY seen BiU 'Awkins?" 

"Now 'ow in the devil would I know?" 
1 'E's taken my girl out walkin', 
An' I've got to tell 'im so — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
I've got to tell 'im so." 

'D' yer know what 'e's like, Bill 'Awkins?" 
"Now what in the devil would I care?" 
"E's the livin', breathin' image of an organ-grinder's 
monkey, 
With a pound of grease in 'is 'air — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
An' a pound o' grease in 'is 'air." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 505 

"An* s'pose you met Bill 'Awkins, 

Now what in the devil 'ud ye do?" 
"I'd open 'is cheek to 'is chin-strap buckle, 

An' bung up 'is both eyes, too — 
Gawd — bless — 'im ! 

An' bung up 'is both eyes, too!" 

"Look 'ere, where 'e comes, Bill 'Awkins! 

Now, what in the devil will you say?" 
"It isn't fit an' proper to be nghtin' on a Sunday, 

So I'll pass 'im the time o' day — 
Gawd — bless — 'im ! 

I'll pass 'im the time o' day!" 



THE MOTHER-LODGE 

HTHERE was Rundle, Station Master, 

An' Beazeley of the Rail, 
An' 'Ackman, Commissariat, 

An' Donkin' o' the Jail; 
An' Blake, Conductor-Sergeant, 

Our Master twice was 'e, 
With 'im that kept the Europe-shop, 

Old Framjee Eduljee. 

Outside — "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!" 

Inside — "Brother" an it doesn't do no 'arm. 

We met upon the Level an we parted on the Square ', 

An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there ! 

We'd Bola Nath, Accountant, 

An' Saul the Aden Jew, 
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman 

Of the Survey Office too; 



5o6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There was Babu Chuckerbutty, 
An' Amir Singh the Sikh, 

An* Castro from the fittin'-sheds, 
The Roman Catholick! 

We 'adn't good regalia, 

An' our Lodge was old an' bare, 
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks, 

An' we kep' 'em to a hair; 
An' lookin' on it backwards 

It often strikes me thus, 
There ain't such things as infidels, 

Excep', per'aps, it's us. 

For monthly, after Labour, 

We'd all sit down and smoke 
(We dursn't give no banquets, 

Lest a Brother's caste were broke), 
An' man on man got talkin' 

Religion an' the rest, 
An' every man comparing 

Of the God 'e knew the best. 



So man on man got talkin', 

An' not a Brother stirred 
Till mornin' waked the parrots 

An' that dam' brain-fever-bird; 
We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious, 

An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, 
With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva 

Changin' pickets in our 'ead. 

Full oft on Guv'ment service 
This rovin' foot 'ath pressed, 

An' bore fraternal greetin's 
To the Lodges east an' west, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 507 

Accordin' as commanded. 

From Kohat to Singapore, 
But I wish that I might see them 

In my Mother-Lodge once more! 



I wish that I might see them, 

My Brethren black an' brown, 
With the trichies smellin' pleasant 

An' the hog-darn 1 passin' down; 
An' the old khansamah 2 snorin' 

On the bottle-khana 3 floor, 
Like a Master in good standing 

With my Mother-Lodge once more. 



Outside — " Sergeant ! Sir ! Salute ! Salaam /" 

Inside — "Brother" an it doesn't do no 'arm. 

We met upon the Level an we parted on the Square, 

An I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there I 



"FOLLOW ME 'OME" 

SPHERE was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot, 
Nor any o' the Guns I knew; 
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died, 
Which is just what the best men do. 

So it's knock out your pipes an follow me ! 
An' it' s finish up your swipes an' follow me ! 
Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin ', 
Follow me— follow me 'ome ! 

1 Cigar-lighter. 2 Butler. 'Pantry, 



508 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long, 
She paws the 'ole night through, 
An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step, 
Which is just what a beast would do. 

'Is girl she goes with a bombardier 
Before 'er month is through; 
An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar 
hooked, 
Which is just what a girl would do. 

We fought 'bout a dog — last week it were — 
No more than a round or two; 
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now, 
Which is just what a man can't do. 

'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend, 
An' I've 'ad to find one new; 
Fut I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back, 
Which it's just too late to do. 

So it's knock out your pipes an follow me ! 
An if s finish up your swipes an follow me ! 
Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin I 
Follow me— follow me 'ome ! 

Take 'im away ! 'E's gone where the best men go. 
Take 'im away ! An the gun-wheels turnin slow. 
Take 'im away I There's more from the place 'e come. 
Take 'i?n away, with the limber an the drum. 

For it's " Three rounds blank" an follow me y 
An it's "Thirteen rank" an follow ?ne; 
Oh, passin the love o' women, 
Follow me—follow me 'ome ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 509 

THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' 

'PT WAS warned agin 'er — 

That's what made 'im look; 
She was warned agin' 'im — 

That is why she took. 
'Wouldn't 'ear no reason, 

'Went an' done it blind; 
We know all about 'em, 

They've got all to find! 



Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin- 
Give 'em one cheer jnore ! 

Grey gun-orses in the lando, 
An a rogue is married to y etc. 



What's the use o' tellin' 

'Arf the lot she's been ? 
'E's a bloomin' robber, 

An 'e keeps canteen. 
'Ow did 'e get 'is buggy? 

Gawd, you needn't ask! 
'Made 'is forty gallon 

Out of every cask! 



Watch 'im, with 'is 'air cut, 

Count us filin' by — 
Won't the Colonel praise 'is 

Pop — u — lar — i — ty ! 
We 'ave scores to settle — 

Scores for more than beer; 
She's the girl to pay 'em — 

That is why we're 'ere! 



io RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

See the Chaplain thinkin'? 

See the women smile? 
Twig the married winkin' 

As they take the aisle? 
Keep your side-arms quiet, 

Dressin' by the Band. 
Ho! You 'oly beggars, 

Cough be'ind your 'and! 



Now it's done an' over, 

'Ear the organ squeak, 
" 'Voice that breathed o'er Eden 

Ain't she got the cheek! 
White an' laylock ribbons, 

Think yourself so fine ! 
I'd pray Gawd to take yer 

'Fore I made ver mine! 



Escort to the kerridge, 

Wish 'im luck, the brute! 
Chuck the slippers after — 

[Pity 't ain't a boot!] 
Bowin' like a lady, 

Blushin' like a lad — 
'Oo would say to see 'em 

Both is rotten bad? 



Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin- 
Give 'em one cheer more ! 

Grey gun-orses in the lando^ 
An a rogue is married to> etc. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 511 

THE JACKET 

(Royal Horse Artillery) 

PHROUGH the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasm' Arabi, 
Gettin' down an' shovin' in the sun; 
An' you might 'ave called us dirty, an' you might ha' called us 

An' you might 'ave 'eard us talkin' at the gun. 
But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, an' the jacket it was new — 

('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) 
An' the wettin' of the jacket is the proper thing to do, 

Nor we didn't keep 'im waiting very long. 

One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt, 

Loadin' down the axle-arms with case; 
But the Captain knew 'is dooty, an' he took the crackers out 

An' he put some proper liquor in its place. 
An' the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an'-thirty 
clear. 

('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) 
4 'Will you draw the weight," sez 'e, "or will you draw the 
beer?" 

An' we didn't keep 'im waiting very long. 

For the Captain, etc. 

Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin' glass, 

Though the Arabites 'ad all their ranges marked; 
But we durs n't 'ardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass 3 

An' we'd dreamed of it since we was disembarked: 
So we fired economic with the shells we 'ad in 'and, 

('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) 
But the beggars under cover 'ad the impidence to stand, 

An' we couldn't keep 'em waitin' very long. 

And the Captain , etc. 



512 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

So we finished 'arf the liquor (an* the Captain took cham- 
pagne), _ 

An* the Arabites was shootin' all the while; 
An' we left our wounded appy with the empties on the plain 5 

An' we used the bloomin' guns for projec///?/ 
We limbered up an' galloped — there were nothin' else to do — 

('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) 
An' the Battery come a-boundin' like a boundin' kangaroo, 

But they didn't watch us comin' very long. 



As the Captain, etc. 



We was goin' most extended — we was drivin' very fine, 

An' the Arabites were loosin' 'igh an' wide, 
Till the Captain took the glacis with a rattlin' "right in- 
cline," 

An' we dropped upon their 'eads the other side. 
Then we give 'em quarter — such as 'adn't up and cut 

('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) 
An' the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy somethin' Brutt, 

But we didn't leave it fizzing very long. 



For the Captain, etc. 



We might ha' been court-martialled, but it all come out all 
right 
When they signalled us to join the main command. 
There was every round expended, there was every gunner 
tight, 
An' the Captain waved a corkscrew in 'is 'and! 



But the Captain y ad *is jacket, etc. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 513 



THE 'EATHEN 

PHE 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone; 
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own; 
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about, 
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out. 

All along 0' dirtiness, all along 0' mess, 
All along 0' doin things rather-more-or-less, 
All along of abby-nay, 1 kul, 2 an' hazar-ho, 3 
Mind you keep your rifle an yourself jus' so I 

The young recruit is 'aughty — 'e draf's from Gawd knows 

where; 
They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square; 
'E calls it bloomin' nonsense — 'e doesn't know, no more — 
An' then up comes 'is Company an kicks 'im round the floor! 

The young recruit is 'ammered — 'e takes it very hard; 
'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters — 'e sulks about the yard; 
'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" which 'e'll swing for by-an'-by, 
An' the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry. 

The young recruit is silly — 'e thinks o' suicide; 

'E's lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e asn't got 'is pride; 

But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit, 

Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit. 

Gettin' clear 0' dirtiness, gettin done with mess, 
Gettin shut 0' doin things rather-more-or-less; 
Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho, 
Learns to keep 'is rifle an 'isself jus' so ! 

1 Not now. 3 To-morrow. 3 Wait a bit. 



5 i 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The young recruit is 'appy — 'e throws a chest to suit; 
You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap 'is boot; 
'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word 'e slings, 
An' 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' 
rings. 



The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year; 
They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is 

beer; 
They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance, 
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for 
Lance. 



An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet, 
'Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get. 
They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can, 
But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an' 'e learns to sweat 'is man. 



An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed, 
'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade; 
They sees 'im quick an' 'andy, uncommon set an' smart, 
An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart. 



'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain; 
'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again; 
'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk; 
An' 'e learns to make men like 'im so they'll learn to like their 
work. 



An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right, 
An' when it comes to action 'e shows 'em how to sight. 
'E knows their ways of thinkin' and jus t what's in their mind ; 
'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 



D l 5 



'E knows each talkin' corpril that leads a squad astray; 

'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way; 

'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin' 'ard to grin, 

An' 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap 'em in. 

An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust, 
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must; 
So, like a man in irons, which isn't glad to go, 
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow. 

Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much 

Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch. 

It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an' 

But if 'e 'adn t learned 'em they'd be all about the shop. 

An' now it's '"Oo goes backward?" an' now it's "'Oo comes 

on?" 
And now it's "Get the doolies," an' now the Captain's gone; 
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear 
'Is voice, the same as barrick-drill, a-shepherdin' the rear. 

'E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split, 

But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take 

the bit; 
The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play, 
An' 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that 

wins the day! 

The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an stone; 

'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own. 

The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began , 

But the backbone of the Army is the Non-commissioned Man ! 

Keep away from dirtiness — keep away from mess, 
Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less ! 
Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, and hazar-ho; 
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so ! 



516 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE SHUT-EYE SENTRY 

CEZ the Junior Orderly Sergeant 
To the Senior Orderly Man: 
"Our Orderly Orf'cer's hokee-mut} 

"You 'elp 'im all you can. 
"For the wine was old and the night is cold, 

"An' the best we may go wrong, 
"So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box, 
"You pass the word along." 

So it was "Rounds ! What Rounds ?" at two of a frosty night \ 
'E's 'oldin on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your 
eye. 

An it was "Pass ! AlTs well I Oh, ain't 'e drippin tight ! 
'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by. " 

The moon was white on the barricks, 

The road was white an' wide, 
An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all, 

An' the ten-foot ditch beside. 
An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed, 

An' the three they danced along, 
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box, 

So I didn't see nothin' wrong. 

Though it was "Rounds ! What Rounds ?" corporal, 'old 
'im up ! 
'E's usin 'is cap as it shouldn't be used, but, sentry, shut 
your eye. 
An it was "Pass ! All's well ! Ho, shun the foamin cup I 
'Ell need," etc. 

^ery drunk. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 517 

'T was after four in the mornin'; 

We 'ad to stop the fun, 
An' we sent 'im ome on a bullock-cart, 

With 'is belt an' stock undone; 
But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im out, 

An' a first-class job we made, 
When we saved 'im, smart as a bombardier, 

For six o'clock parade. 

// 'ad been "Rounds! What Rounds? Oh, shove 'im 
straight again ! 
'E's usin 'is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye." 
An it was " Pass ! All's well!" 'E's called me "Darlin 
Jane ! 
'Ell need, " etc. 

The drill was long an' 'eavy, 

The sky was 'ot an' blue. 
An' 'is eye was wild an' 'is 'air was wet, 

But 'is sergeant pulled 'im through. 
Our men was good old trusties — 

They'd done it on their 'ead; 
But you ought to 'ave 'eard 'em markin' time 

To 'ide the things 'e said! 

For it was " Right flank — wheel !" for "'Alt, an stand at 
ease ! 
An "Left extend !" for "Centre close!" marker, shut 
your eye ! 
An it was, " 'Ere, sir, 'ere ! before the Colonel sees !" 
So he needed affidavits pretty badly by-an'-by. 

There was two-an'-thirty sergeants, 

There was corp'rals forty-one, 
There was just nine 'undred rank an' file 

To swear to a touch o' sun. 



5i8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There was me 'e 'd kissed in the sentry-box, 

As I 'ave not told in my song, 
But I took my oath, which were Bible-truth, 

I 'adn't seen nothin' wrong. 

There's them that's 'ot an' 'aughty, 

There's them that's cold an' 'ard, 
But there comes a night when the best gets tight, 

And then turns out the Guard. 
I've seen them 'ide their liquor 

In every kind o' way, 
But most depends on makin' friends 

With Privit Thomas A.! 

IV hen it is " Rounds I What Rounds? 'E's breathin 
through 'is nose. 

'E's reelin , rollin , roarin , tight, but, sentry , shut your eye" 
An' it is "Pass ! All's well 7" An that's the way it goes: 

JVe'll 'elp 'imfor 'is mother ; an 'e'll ' elp us by-an'-by ! 



"MARY, PITY WOMEN!" 

VOU call yourself a man, 

For all you used to swear, 
An' leave me, as you can, 

My certain shame to bear? 

I 'ear! You do not care — 
You done the worst you know. 

I 'ate you, grinnin' there. . . . 
Ah, Gawd, I love you so! 

Nice while it lasted, an now it is over — 
Tear out your ' eart an good-bye to your lover ! 
What's the use o' grievin \ when the mother that bore yon 
{Mary, pity women /) knew it all before you t 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 519 

It aren't no false alarm, 

The finish to your fun; 
You — you 'ave brung the 'arm, 

An' I'm the ruined one; 

An' now you'll off an' run 
With some new fool in tow. 

Your 'eart? You 'aven't none. . . . 
Ah, Gawd, I love you so! 

When a man is tired there is naught will hind 'im; 
All *e solemn promised V will shove be'ind 'im. 
What's the good pray in for The Wrath to strike f im 
{Mary, pity women!), when the rest are like y im ? 

What 'ope for me or — it? 

What's left for us to do ? 
I've walked with men a bit, 

But this — but this is you. 

So 'elp me Christ, it's true! 
Where can I 'ide or go ? 

You coward through and through! . . , 
Ah, Gawd, I love you so! 

.411 the more you give 'em the less are they for givin'— 
Love lies dead, a?2* you can not kiss y im livin\ 
Down the 7'oad V led you there is no returnin 
(Mary, pity women /), but you re late in learnin ! 

You'd like to treat me fair? 

You can't, because we're pore? 
We'd starve ? What do I care ! 

We might, but this is shore! 

I want the name — no more — 
The name, an' lines to show, 

An' not to be an 'ore. . . . 
Ah, Gawd, I love you so! 



520 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Whafs the good d 1 pleadin , when the mother that bore you 
(Mary, pity women !) knew it all before you ? 
Sleep on 'is promises an wake to your sorrow 
(Mary, pity women I), for we sail to-morrow ! 



"FOR TO ADMIRE" 

I^HE Injian Ocean sets an' smiles 
So soF, so bright, so bloomin' blue; 
There aren't a wave for miles an' miles 

Excep' the jiggle from the screw. 
The ship is swep', the day is done, 

The bugle's gone for smoke and play; 
An' black ag'in the settin' sun 

The Lascar sings, "Hum deckty hai Z" 1 

For to admire an for to see, 

For to be' old this world so wide — 

// never done no good to me, 
But I cant drop it if I tried ! 

I see the sergeants pitchin' quoits, 

I 'ear the women laugh an' talk, 
I spy upon the quarter-deck 

The orficers an' lydies walk. 
I thinks about the things that was, 

An' leans an' looks acrost the sea, 
Till, spite of all the crowded ship, 

There's no one lef alive but me. 

The things that was which I 'ave seen, 
In barrick, camp, an' action too, 

I tells them over by myself, 

An' sometimes wonders if they're true; 

1 l'm looking out. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 521 

For they was odd — most awful odd — 

But all the same now they are o'er, 
There must be 'eaps o' plenty such, 

An' if I wait I'll see some more. 

Oh, I 'ave come upon the books, 

An' frequent broke a barrick-rule, 
An' stood beside an' watched myself 

Be'avin' like a bloomin' fool. 
I paid my price for findin' out, 

Nor never grutched the price I paid, 
But sat in Clink without my boots, 

Admirin' 'ow the world was made. 

Be'old a cloud upon the beam, 

An' 'umped above the sea appears 
Old Aden, like a barrick-stove 

That no one's lit for years an' years: 
I passed by that when I began, 

An' I go 'ome the road I came, 
A time-expired soldier-man 

With six years' service to 'is name. 

My girl she said, "Oh, stay with me!" 

My mother 'eld me to 'er breast. 
They've never written none, an' so 

They must 'ave gone with all the rest— = 
With all the rest which I 'ave seen 

An' found an' known an' met along. 
I cannot say the things I feel, 

And so I sing my evenin' song: 

For to admire an for to see, 

For to be'old this world so wide — 
// never done no good to me, 

But I cant drop it if I tried ! 



5 22 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"THE SERVICE MAN" 
(Boer War, 1899) 

" HHOMMY" you was when it began , 
But now that it is o'er 
You shall be called The Service Man 
'Enceforward, evermore. 

Batt'ry, brigade, flank, centre, van, 

Defaulter, Army-corps — 
From first to last, The Service Alan 

'Enceforward, evermore. 

From 'Alifax to 'Indus tan, 
Fro?n York to Singapore — 

y Orse,foot, an guns, The Service Man 
'Enceforward, evermore ! 



THE ABSENT-MINDED BEGGAR 

VX^HEN you've shouted "Rule Britannia," when you've 
sung "God save the Queen," 

When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth, 
Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine 

For a gentleman in kharki ordered South? 
He's an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great — 

But we and Paul must take him as we find him — 
He is out on active service, wiping something off* a slate — 

And he's left a lot of little things behind him! 

Duke's son — cook's son — son of a hundred kings — 

(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!) 
Each of 'em doing his country's work 

(and who's to look after their things?) 
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, 

and pay — pay — pay! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 523 

There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to, 

For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did. 
There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling 
due, 

And it's more than rather likely there's a kid. 
There are girls he walked with casual. They'll be sorry now 
he's gone, 

For an absent-minded beggar they will find him, 
But it ain't the time for sermons with the winter coming on. 

We must help the girl that Tommy's left behind him! 
Cook's son — duke's son — son of a belted earl — 

Son of a Lambeth publican — it's all the same to-day! 
Each of 'em doing his country's work 

(and who's to look after the girl?) 
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, 

and pay — pay — pay! 

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak, 

And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout, 
And they'll live on half o' nothing, paid 'em punctual once a 
week 

'Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out. 
He's an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call, 

And his reg'ment didn't need to send to find him! 
He chucked his job and joined it — so the job before us all 

Is to help the home that Tommy's left behind him! 
Duke's job — cook's job — gardener, baronet, groom 

Mews or palace or pap.er-shop, there's someone gone away! 
Each of 'em doing his country's work 

(and who's to look after the room?) 
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, 

and pay — pay — pay! 

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face, 
And tell him — what he'd very much prefer — 

That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place 
And his mates (that's you and me) looked out for her. 



524 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He's an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all, 

But we do not want his kiddies to remind him 
That we sent 'em to the workhouse while their daddy ham- 
mered Paul, 

So we'll help the homes that Tommy left behind him! 
Cook's home — Duke's home — home of a millionaire, 

(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!) 
Each of 'em doing his country's work 

(and what have you got to spare ?) 
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, 

and pay — pay — pay! 



CHANT-PAGAN 

{English Irregular discharged) 

TV/IE THAT 'ave been what I've been— 
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone- 
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen — 

'Ow can I ever take on 
With awful old England again, 
An* 'ouses both sides of the street, 
And 'edges two sides of the lane, 
And the parson an' gentry between, 
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet — 

Me that 'ave been what I've been? 



Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world 

'Eave up all shiny with dew, 

Kopje on kop to the sun, 

An' as soon as the mist let 'em through 

Our 'elios winkin' like fun — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 525 

Three sides of a ninety-mile square. 
Over valleys as big as a shire — 
Are ye there ? Are ye there ? Are ye there ? 
An' then the blind drum of our fire . . . 
An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire, 

Me! 



Me that 'ave rode through the dark 
Forty mile, often, on end, 
Along the Ma'ollisberg Range, 
With only the stars for my mark 
An' only the night for my friend, 
An' things runnin' off as you pass, 
An' things jumpm* up in the grass, 
An' the silence, the shine an' the size 
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies — 
I am takin' some letters almost 
As much as a mile to the post, 
An' "mind you come back with the change 

Me! 



Me that saw Barberton took 

When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead, 

An' they 'ove the guns over and fled — 

Me that was through Di'mond Til, 

An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast — 

From Dundee to Vereeniging all — 

Me that stuck out to the last 

(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) — 

I am doin' my Sunday-school best, 

By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife 

(Not to mention the 'ousemaid an' cook), 



526 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To come in an' 'ands up an' be still, 
An' honestly work for my bread, 
My livin' in that state of life 
To which it shall please God to call 

Me! 

Me that 'ave followed my trade 

In the place where the Lightnin's are made, 

'Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon— 

Me that lay down an' got up 

Three years with the sky for my roof — 

That 'ave ridden my 'unger an' thirst 

Six thousand raw mile on the hoof, 

With the Vaal and the Orange for cup, 

An* the Brandwater Basin for dish, — 

Oh! it's 'ard to be'ave as they wish 

(Too 'ard, an' a little too soon), 

I'll 'ave to think over it first — 

Me! 

I will arise an' get 'ence; — 

I will trek South and make sure 

If it's only my fancy or not 

That the sunshine of England is pale, 

And the breezes of England are stale, 

An' there's somethin' gone small with the lot; 

For / know of a sun an' a wind, 

An' some plains and a mountain be'ind, 

An' some graves by a barb-wire fence; 

An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give 

Me a job were I ever inclined, 

To look in an' ofFsaddle an' live 

Where there's neither a road nor a tree — 

But only my Maker an' me, 

And I think it will kill me or cure, 

So I think I will go there an' see. 

Me! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 527 

M. I. 

{Mounted Infantry of the Line) 

f" WISH my mother could see me now, with a fence-post 

under my arm, 
And a knife and a spoon in my putties that I found on a Boer 

farm, 
Atop of a sore-backed Argentine, with a thirst that you 
could n't buy. 
I used to be in the Yorkshires once 
(Sussex, Lincolns, and Rifles once), 
Hampshires, Glosters, and Scottish once! {ad lib.) 
But now I am M. I. 

That is what we are known as — that is the name you must call 
If you want officers' servants, pickets an' 'orseguards an' all — 
Details for buryin'-parties, company-cooks or supply — 
Turn out the chronic Ikonas! Roll up the l M. I.! 

My 'ands are spotty with veldt-sores, mv shirt is a button an' 

frill, 
An' the things TVe used my bay'nit for would make a tinker 

ill! 
An' I don't know whose dam' column I'm in, nor where we're 
trekkin' nor why. 
I've trekked from the Vaal to the Orange once — 
From the Vaal to the greasy Pongolo once — 
(Or else it was called the Zambesi once) — 
For now I am M. I. 

That is what we are known as — we are the push you require 
For outposts all night under freezin', an' rearguard all day 
under fire. 

l Number according to taste and service of audience. 



528 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Anything 'ot or unwholesome? Anything dusty or dry? 
Borrow a bunch of Ikonas! Trot out the M. I.! 

Our Sergeant-Major's a subaltern, our Captain's a Fusilier — 
Our Adjutant's "late of Somebody's 'Orse," an' a Melbourne 

auctioneer; 
But you couldn't spot us at 'arf a mile from the crackest 
caval-ry. 
They used to talk about Lancers once, 
Hussars, Dragoons, an' Lancers once, 
'Elmets, pistols, an' carbines once, 
But now we are M. I.! 

That is what we are known as — we are the orphans they 

blame 
For beggin' the loan of an 'ead-stall an' makin' a mount to the 

same. 
'Can't even look at their 'orselines but some one goes bellerin' 

"Hi! 
' 'Ere comes a burglin' Ikona!" Footsack you M. Li 

We're trekkin' our twenty miles a day an' bein' loved by the 

Dutch, 
But we don't hold on by the mane no more, nor lose our stir- 
rups — much; 
An* we scout with a senior man in charge where the 'oly white 
flags fly. 
We used to think they were friendly once, 
Didn't take any precautions once 
(Once, my ducky, an' only once!) 

But now we are M. I.! 

That is what we are known as — we are the beggars that got 
Three days "to learn equitation," an' six months o' bloomin' 

well trot! 
Cow-guns, an' cattle, an' convoys — an' Mister De Wet on the 

fly- 
We are the rollin' Ikonas! We are the M. I. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 529 

The new fat regiments come from home, imaginin' vain 

V. C.'s 
(The same as your talky-fighty men which are often Number 

Threes 1 ), 
But our words o' command are "Scatter" an' "Close" an' 
"Let your wounded lie." 
We used to rescue 'em noble once, — 
Givin' the range as we raised 'em once, 
Gettin' 'em killed as we saved 'em once — 
But now we are M. I. 

That is what we are known as — we are the lanterns you view 
After a fight round the kopjes, lookin' for men that we knew; 
Whistlin' an' callin' together, 'altin' to catch the reply: — 
" 'Elp me ! O 'elp me, Ikonas ! This way, the M. I. ! " 

I wish my mother could see me now, a-gatherin' news on my 

own, 
When I ride like a General up to the scrub and ride back like 

Tod Sloan, 
Remarkable close to my 'orse's neck to let the shots go by. 
We used to fancy it risky once 
(Called it a reconnaissance once), 
Under the charge of an orf'cer once, 
But now we are M. L! 

That is what we are known as — that is the song you must say 
When you want men to be Mausered at one and a penny a 

day; 
We are no five-bob Colonials — we are the 'ome-made supply, 
Ask for the London Ikonas! Ring up the M. L! 

I wish myself could talk to myself as I left 'im a year ago; 
I could tell 'im a lot that would save 'im a lot on the things 
that 'e ought to know! 

1 Horse-holders when in action, and therefore generally under cover. 



53o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When I think o' that ignorant barrack-bird, it almost makes 
me cry. 
I used to belong in an J\rmy once 
(Gawd! what a rum little Army once), 
Red little, dead little Army once! 
But now I am M. I.! 



That is what we are known as — we are the men that have 

been 
Over a year at the business, smelt it an' felt it an' seen. 
We 'ave got 'old of the needful — you will be told by and bv; 
Wait till you've 'eard the Ikonas, spoke to the old M. L! 

Mount — march, Ikonas ! Stand to your y orses again ! 
Mop off the frost on the saddles, mop up the miles on the plain. 
Out go the stars in the dawnin ', up goes our dust to the sky 3 
Walk — trot, Ikonas ! Trek jo u, 1 the old M. I. ! 



COLUMNS 

{Mobile Columns of the Boer War) 

OUT o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry 

(Time, an y igh time to be trekkin again J) 
'Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply? 
A section, a pompom, an six 'undred men. 

'Ere comes the clerk with 'is lantern an' keys 
{Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin again !) 

''Surplus of everything — draw what you please 
"For the section, the pompom, an six 'undred men. 

1 Get ahead. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 531 

"What are our orders an' where do we lay?" 

(Time, an y igh time to be trekkin again /) 
''You came after dark — you will leave before day, 

"You section, you pompom, you six 'undred men /" 

Down the tin street, 'alf awake an' unfed, 
'Ark to 'em blessin' the Gen'ral in bed! 

Now by the church an' the outspan they wind — 
Over the ridge an' it's all lef be'ind 
For the section, etc. 

Soon they will camp as the dawn's growin' grey, 
Roll up for coffee an' sleep while they may — 
The section, etc. 

Read their 'ome letters, their papers an' such, 
For they'll move after dark to astonish the Dutch 
With a section, etc. 

'Untin' for shade as the long hours pass — 
Blankets on rifles or burrows in grass, 

Lies the section, etc. 

» 

Dossin* or beatin* a shirt in the sun, 
Watching chameleons or cleanin' a gun, 
Waits the section, etc. 

With nothin' but stillness as far as you please, 
An* the silly mirage stringin' islands an' seas 
Round the section, etc. 

So they strips off their hide an' they grills in their bones. 
Till the shadows crawl out from beneath the pore stones 
Towards the section, etc. 



532 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

An' the Mauser-bird stops an' the jackals begin, 
An' the 'orse-guard comes up and the Gunners 'ook in 
As a 'int to the pompom an' six 'undred men. 

Off through the dark with the stars to rely on — 
(Alpha Centauri an* somethin' Orion) 
Moves the section, etc. 

Same bloomin' 'ole which the ant-bear 'as broke, 
Same bloomin' stumble an' same bloomin' joke 
Down the section, etc. 

Same "which is right?" where the cart-tracks divide, 
Same "give it up" from the same clever guide 
To the section, etc. 

Same tumble-down on the same 'idden farm, 
Same white-eyed Kaffir 'oo gives the alarm 
Of the section, etc. 

Same shootin' wild at the end o' the night, 
Same flyin'-tackle an' same messy fight, 
By the section, etc. 

Same ugly 'iccup an' same 'orrid squeal, 
When it's too dark to see an' it's too late to feel 
In the section, etc. 

(Same batch of prisoners, 'airy an' still, 
Watchin' their comrades bolt over the 'ill 
From the section, etc.) 

Same chilly glare in the eye of the sun 
As 'e gets up displeasured to see what was done 
By the section, etc. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 533 

Same splash o' pink on the stoep or the kraal, 
An' the same quiet face which 'as finished with all 
In the section, the pompom, an six 'undred men. 

Out 0' the wilderness, dusty an y dry 

{Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin again !) 
y Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply ? 

A section, a pompom, an six 'undred men. 



THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS 

". . . On the — th instant a mixed detachment of Colonials left for 

Cape Town, there to rejoin their respective homeward-bound contingents^ after 
fifteen months' service in the field. They were escorted to the station by the 

regular troops in garrison and the bulk of Colonel 's column^ which has just 

come in to refit ', preparatory to further operations. The leave-taking was of the 
most cordial character •, the men cheering each other continuously . 

— Any Newspaper, during the South African War. 

\\/'E , VE rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations 

come to hand, 
Together for a year and more around this stinkin' land: 
Now you are goin' home again, but we must see it through. 
We needn't tell we liked you well. Good-bye — good luck to 

you! 

You s ad no special call to come, and so you doubled out, 
And learned us how to camp and cook an' steal a horse and 

scout. 
Whatever game we fancied most, you joyful played it too, 
And rather better on the whole. Good-bye — good luck to 

you! 

There is n't much we 'ave n 5 t shared, since Kruger cut and run, 
The same old work,, the same old skoff 1 the same old dust and 
sun; 

^ood. 



534 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The same old chance that laid us out, or winked an' let us 

through; 
The same old Life, the same old Death. Good-bye — good 

luck to you! 

Our blood 'as truly mixed with yours — all down the Red 

Cross train. 
We've bit the same thermometer in Bloeming-typhoidtein. 
We've 'ad the same old temp'rature — the same relapses too, 
The same old saw-backed fever-chart. Good-bye — good 

luck to you! 

But 't was n't merely this an' that (which all the world mav 

know), 
'Twas how you talked an' looked at things which made us 

like you so. 
All independent, queer an' odd, but most amazin' new, 
My word! you shook us up to rights. Good-bye — good 

luck to you! 

Think o' the stories round the fire, the tales along the trek — 
O' Calgary an' Wellin'ton, an' Sydney and Quebec; 
Of mine an' farm, an' ranch an' run, an' moose an' cariboo, 
An' parrots peckin' lambs to death! Good-bye — good luck 
to you! 

We've seen your ome by word o' mouth, we've watched your 

rivers shine 3 
We've 'eard your bloomin' forests blow of eucalip' and pine; 
^our young, gay countries north an' south, we feel we own 

'em too ? 
For they was made by rank an* file. Good-bye — good luck 

to you! 

We'll never read the papers now without inquirin 2 first 
For word from all those friendly dorps where you was bon? 
an* nursed. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 



:o;> 



Why, Dawson, Galle, an' Montreal — Port Darwin — Timaru, 
They're only just across the road! Good-bye — good luck 
to you! 

Good-bye! — So-long! Don't lose yourselves — nor us, nor all 

kind friends, 
But tell the girls your side the drift we're comin' — when it 

ends! 
Good-bye, you bloomin' Atlases! You've taught us some- 

thin' new: 
The world's no bigger than a kraal. Good-bye — good luck 



TWO KOPJES 

{Made Yeomanry towards End of Boer War) 

^)NLY two African kopjes, 

Only the cart-tracks that wind 
Empty and open between 'em, 

Only the Transvaal behind; 
Only an Aldershot column 

Marching to conquer the land . . . 
Only a sudden and solemn 

Visit, unarmed, to the Rand. 

Then scorn not the African kopje, 

The kopje that smiles in the heat, 
The wholly unoccupied kopje, 

The home of Cornelius and Piet. 
You can never be sure of your kopje, 

But of this be you blooming well sure., 
i A kopje is always a kopje. 

And a Boojer is always a Boer! 



536 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Only two African kopjes, 

Only the vultures above, 
Only baboons — at the bottom, 

Only some buck on the move; 
Only a Kensington draper 

Only pretending to scout . . . 
Only bad news for the paper, 

Only another knock-out. 



Then mock not the African kopje, 
And rub not your flank on its side. 

The silent and simmering kopje, 
The kopje beloved by the guide. 

You can never be, etc. 



Only two African kopjes, 

Only the dust of their wheels, 
Only a bolted commando, 

Only our guns at their heels . . . 
Only a little barb-wire, 

Only a natural fort, 
Only "by sections retire," 

Only "regret to report!" 

Then mock not the African kopje, 
Especially when it is twins, 

One sharp and one table-topped kopje 
For that's where the trouble begins. 

You never can be, etc. 



Only two African kopjes 

Baited the same as before — 

Only we've had it so often, 
Only we're taking no more 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 537 

Only a wave to our troopers, 

Only our flanks swinging past, 
Only a dozen voorloopers, 1 

Only we've learned it at last! 

Then mock not the African kopje, 

But take off your hat to the same, 
The patient, impartial old kopje, 

The kopje that taught us the game! 
For all that we knew in the Columns, 

And all theyVe forgot on the Staff, 
We learned at the Fight o' Two Kopjes, 

Which lasted two years an' a half. 



O mock not the African kopje, 

Not even when peace has been signed — 
The kopje that isn't a kopje — 

The kopje that copies its kind. 
You can never be sure of your kopje, 

But of this be you blooming well sure, 
That a kopje is always a kopje, 

And a Boojer is always a Boer! 



THE INSTRUCTOR 

{Non-commissioned Officers of the Line) 

AT TIMES when under cover I 'ave said, 
To keep my spirits up an' raise a laugh, 
'Earin 'im pass so busy over-'ead — 
Old . Nickel-Neck, 'oo is n't on the Staff— 
" There's one above is greater than us all." 

1 Leading horseman of the enemy. 



«8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



3J 



Before 'im I 'ave seen my Colonel fall, 
An* watched 'im write my Captain's epitaph, 
So that a long way off it could be read — 
He 'as the knack o' makin' men feel small- 
Old Whistle Tip, 'oo is n't on the Staff. 

There is no sense in fleein' (I 'ave fled), 
Better go on an' do the belly-crawl, 
An* 'ope 'e '11 'it some other man instead 
Of you 'e seems to 'unt so speshual — 
Fitzy van Spitz, 'oo is n't on the Staff. 

An* thus in mem'ry's cinematograph, 

Now that the show is over, I recall 

The peevish voice an' 'oary mushroom 'ead 

Of 'im we owned was greater than us all, 

'Oo give instruction to the quick an' the dead- 

The Shudderin' Beggar — not upon the Staff! 



BOOTS 

{Infantry Columns) 

VV/'E'RE foot — slog — slog — slog — sloggin' over Africa! 

Foot — foot — foot — foot — sloggin' over Africa — 

(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up and down again!) 

There's no discharge in the war! 

Seven — six — eleven — five — nine-an'-twenty mile to-day — 
Four — eleven — seventeen — thirty-two the day before — 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up and down again !) 
There's no discharge in the war! 

Don't — don't — don't — don't — look at what's in front of you. 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up an' down again); 
Men — men — men — men — men go mad with watchin* 'em, 
An* there's no discharge in the war! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 539 

Try — try — try — try — to think o' something different — 
Oh — my — God — keep — me from goin' lunatic! 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up an* down again!) 
There's no discharge in the war! 

Count — count — count — count — the bullets in the bandoliers. 
If — your — eyes — drop — they will get atop o' you 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up and down again) — 
There's no discharge in the war! 

We — can — stick — out — 'unger, thirst, an' weariness, 
But — not — not — not — not the chronic sight of 'em — 
Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up an' down again, 
An' there's no discharge in the war! 

'Tain't — so — bad — by — day because o' company, 
But — night — brings — long — strings — o' forty thousand mil- 
lion 
Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up an' down again. 
There's no discharge in the war! 

I — 'ave — marched — six — weeks in 'Ell an' certify 
It — is — not — fire — devils — dark or anything, 
But boots — boots — boots — boots — movin' up an' down 
again, 

An' there's no discharge in the war! 



THE MARRIED MAN 

{Reservist of the Line) 

HpHE bachelor 'e fights for one 

As joyful as can be; 
But the married man don't call it fun, 
Because 'e fights for three — 



54o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For Tm an' 'Er an' It 

(An* Two an' One make Three) 

'E wants to finish 'is little bit, 
An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea! 

The bachelor pokes up 'is 'ead 

To see if you are gone; 
But the married man lies down instead,, 

An' waits till the sights come on, 
For Tm an' 'Er an' a hit 

(Direct or ricochee) 
'E wants to finish 'is little bit, 

An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea. 

The bachelor will miss you clear 

To fight another day; 
But the married man, 'e says "No fear!" 

'E wants you out of the way 
Of Tm an' 'Er an' It 

(An' 'is road to 'is farm or the sea), 
'E wants to finish 'is little bit, 

An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea. 

The bachelor 'e fights 'is fight 

An' stretches out an' snores; 
But the married man sits up all night — 

For 'e don't like out-o'-doors. 
'E'll strain an' listen an' peer 

An' give the first alarm — 
For the sake o' the breathin' Vs used to 'ear 

An' the 'ead on the thick of 'is arm. 

The bachelor may risk 'is 'ide 

To 'elp you when you're downed; 

But the married man will wait beside 
Till the ambulance comes round. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 541 

'E'll take your ome address 

An' all you've time to say, 
Or if 'e sees there's 'ope, 'e'll press 

Your art'ry 'alf the day — 

For 'Im an' 'Er an' It 

(An' One from Three leaves Two), 
For 'e knows you wanted to finish your bit, 

An' 'e knows 'oo's wantin' you. 
Yes, Tm an' 'Er an' It 

(Our 'oly One in Three), 
We're all of us anxious to finish our bit, 

An' we want to get 'ome to our tea! 

Yes, It an' 'Er an' 'Im, 

Which often makes me think 
The married man must sink or swim 

An' — 'e can't afford to sink! 
Oh 'Im an' It an' 'Er 

Since Adam an' Eve began! 
So I'd rather fight with the bachelor 

An' be nursed by the married man! 



LICHTENBERG 

{New South Wales Contingent) 

CMELLS are surer than sounds or sights 
To make your heart-strings crack — 
They start those awful voices o' nights 

That whisper, "Old man, come back!" 
That must be why the big things pass 

And the little things remain, 
Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg, 

Riding in, in the rain. 



542 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

There was some silly fire on the flank 

And the small wet drizzling down — 
There were the sold-out shops and the bank 

And the wet, wide-open town; 
And we were doing escort-duty 

To somebody's baggage-train, 
And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg — 

Riding in, in the rain. 



It was all Australia to me — 

All I had found or missed: 
Every face I was crazy to see, 

And every woman I'd kissed: 
All that I should n't ha' done, God knows! 

(As He knows I'll do it again), 
That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg, 

Riding in, in the rain! 

And I saw Sydney the same as ever, 

The picnics and brass-bands; 
And my little homestead on Hunter River 

And my new vines joining hands. 
It all came over me in one act 

Quick as a shot through the brain — 
With the smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg, 

Riding in, in the rain. 

I have forgotten a hundred fights, 

But one I shall not forget — 
With the raindrops bunging up my sights 

And my eyes bunged up with wet; 
And through the crack and the stink of the cordite 

(Ah Christ! My country again!) 
The smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg, 

Riding in, in the rain! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 543 

STELLENBOSH 

{Composite Columns) 

PHE General 'eard the firm' on the flank, 

An' 'e sent a mounted man to bring 'im back 
The silly, pushin' person's name an' rank 

'Oo'd dared to answer Brother Boer's attack: 
For there might 'ave been a serious engagement, 

An' 'e might 'ave wasted 'alf a dozen men; 
So 'e ordered 'im to stop 'is operations round the kopjes, 
An' 'e told 'im off before the Staff at ten! 



And it all goes into the laundry, 
But it never comes out in the wash, 
'Ow we're sugared about by the old men 
('Eavy-sterned amateur old men!) 
That 'amper an' 'inder an' scold men 
For fear o' Stellenbosh! 



The General 'ad "produced a great effect," 

The General 'ad the country cleared — almost; 
The General "'ad no reason to expect," 

And the Boers 'ad us bloomin' well on toast! 
For we might 'ave crossed the drift before the twilight, 

Instead o' sitting down an' takin' root; 
But we was not allowed, so the Boojers scooped the crowd, 

To the last survivin' bandolier an' boot. 



The General saw the farm'ouse in 'is rear, 
With its stoep so nicely shaded from the sun; 

Sez 'e, "I'll pitch my tabernacle 'ere," 

An' "e kept us muckin' round till 'e 'ad done. 



544 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For 'e might 'ave caught the confluent pneumonia 

From sleepin' in his gaiters in the dew; 
So 'e took a book an' dozed while the other columns closed 

And De Wet's commando out an' trickled through! 

The General saw the mountain-range ahead, 

With their 'elios showin' saucy on the 'eight, 
So 'e 'eld us to the level ground instead, 

An' telegraphed the Boojers would n't fight. 
For 'e might 'ave gone an' sprayed 'em with a pompom, 

Or 'e might 'ave slung a squadron out to see — 
But 'e was n't takin' chances in them 'igh an' 'ostile kranzes — 

He was markin' time to earn a K. C. B. 

The General got 'is decorations thick 

(The men that backed 'is lies could not complain), 
The Staff 'ad D. S. O.'s till we was sick, 

An' the soldier — 'ad the work to do again! 
For 'e might 'ave known the District was an 'otbed, 

Instead of 'andin' over, upside-down, 
To a man 'oo 'ad to fight 'alf a year to put it right, 

While the General went an' slandered 'im in town! 

An' it all went into the laundry, 
But it never came out in the wash. 
We were sugared about by the old men 
(Panicky, perishin' old men) 
That 'amper an' 'inder an' scold men 
For fear o' Stellenbosh! 



HALF-BALLAD OF WATER VAL 

{Non-commissioned Officers in Charge of Prisoners) 

\\Z"HEN by the labour of my 'ands 

I've 'elped to pack a transport tight 
With prisoners for foreign lands, 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 545 

I ain't transported with delight. 
I know it's only just an' right, 
But yet it somehow sickens me. 
For I 'ave learned at Waterval 
The meanin' of captivity. 



Be'ind the pegged barb-wire strands, 

Beneath the tall electric light, 
We used to walk in bare-'ead bands, 
Explainin' 'ow we lost our fight; 
An' that is what they'll do to-night 
Upon the steamer out at sea, 
If I 'ave learned at Waterval 
The meanin' of captivity. 



They'll never know the shame that brands- 
Black shame no livin' down makes white- 
The mockin' from the sentry-stands, 
The women's laugh, the gaoler's spite. 
We are too bloomin'-much polite, 

But that is 'ow I'd 'ave us be . . . 
Since I 'ave learned at Waterval 
The meanin' of captivity. 



They'll get those draggin' days all right, 

Spent as a foreigner commands, 
An' 'orrors of the locked-up night, 

With 'Ell's own thinkin' on their 'ands. 
I'd give the gold o' twenty Rands 
(If it was mine) to set 'em free 
For I 'ave learned at Waterval 
The meanin' of captivity! 



546 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

PIET 

{Regular of the Line) 

\ DO not love my Empire's foes, 

Nor call 'em angels; still, 
What is the sense of 'atin' those 

'Oom you are paid to kill? 
So, barrin' all that foreign lot 
Which only joined for spite, 
Myself, I'd just as soon as not 
Respect the man I fight. 

Ah there, Piet! — 'is trousies to 'is knees, 
'Is coat-tails lyin' level in the bullet-sprinkled breeze; 
'E does not lose 'is rifle an' 'e does not lose 'is seat, 
I've known a lot o' people ride a dam' sight worse than 
Piet. 

I've 'eard 'im cryin' from the ground 

Like Abel's blood of old, 
An' skirmished out to look, an' found 

The beggar nearly cold. 
I've waited on till 'e was dead 

(Which couldn't 'elp 'im much), 
But many grateful things 'e 's said 
To me for doin' such. 

Ah there, Piet! whose time 'as come to die, 

'Is carcase past rebellion, but 'is eyes inquirin' why. 

Though dressed in stolen uniform with badge o' rank 

complete, 
I've known a lot o' fellers go a dam' sight worse than 
Piet. 

An' when there was n't aught to do 

But camp and cattle-guards, 
I've fought with 'im the 'ole day through 

At fifteen 'undred yards; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 547 

Long afternoons o' lyin' still, 

An* 'earin' as you lay 
The bullets swish from 'ill to 'ill 
Like scythes among the 'ay. 

Ah there, Piet! — be'ind 'is stony kop. 

With 'is Boer bread an' biltong, 1 an' 'is flask of awful 

D ° p2; 
'Is Mauser for amusement an' 'is pony for retreat, 

I've known a lot o' fellers shoot a dam' sight worse 

than Piet. 

He's shoved 'is rifle 'neath my nose 

Before I'd time to think, 
An' borrowed all my Sunday clo'es 

An' sent me 'ome in pink; 
An' I 'ave crept (Lord, 'ow I've crept!) 

On 'ands an' knees I've gone, 
And spoored and floored and caught and kept 
An' sent him to Ceylon! 

Ah there, Piet! — you've sold me many a pup, 

When week on week alternate it was you an' me " 'ands 

up! 
But though I never made you walk man-naked in the 

'eat, 
I've known a lot of fellows stalk a dam' sight worse than 
Piet. 



From Plewman's to Marabastad, 

From Ookiep to De Aar, 
Me an' my trusty friend 'ave 'ad, 

As you might say, a war; 
But seein' what both parties done 

Before 'e owned defeat, 
I ain't more proud of 'avin' won, 

Than I am pleased with Piet. 

1 Dried meat. 2 Cape brandy. 



548 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Ah there, Piet! — picked up be'ind the drive! 
The wonder wasn't 'ow 'e fought, but ow 'e kep' alive, 
With nothin' in 'is belly, on 'is back, or to 'is feet — 
I've known a lot o' men behave a dam' sight worse 
than Piet. 

No more I'll 'ear 'is rifle crack 

Along the block'ouse fence — 
The beggar's on the peaceful tack, 

Regardless of expense; 
For countin' what 'e eats an' draws, 

An' gifts an' loans as well, 
'E's gettin' 'alf the Earth, because 
'E didn't give us 'Ell! 

Ah there, Piet! with your brand-new English plough, 
Your gratis tents an' cattle, an' your most ungrateful 

frow, 
You've made the British taxpayer rebuild your country- 
seat — 
I've known some pet battalions charge a dam' sight less 
than Piet. 



" WILFUL-MISSING' ' 

{Deserters) 

"PHERE is a world outside the one you know, 

To which for curiousness 'Ell can't compare — 
It is the place where "wilful-missings" go, 
As we can testify, for we are there. 

You may 'ave read a bullet laid us low, 

That we was gathered in "with reverent care'* 

And buried proper. But it was not so, 
As we can testify, — for we are there! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 549 

They can't be certain — faces alter so 

After the old aasvogel 1 's 'ad 'is share. 
The uniform 's the mark by which they go — 

And — ain't it odd? — the one we best can spare. 

We might 'ave seen our chance to cut the show — 

. Name, number, record, an' begin elsewhere — 
Leavin' some not too late-lamented foe 

One funeral — private — British — for 'is share. • 

We may 'ave took it yonder in the Low 

Bush-veldt that sends men stragglin' unaware 

Among the Kaffirs, till their columns go. 
An' they are left past call or count or care. 

We might 'ave been your lovers long ago, 
'Usbands or children — comfort or despair. 

Our death {an burial) settles all we owe, 
An' why we done it is our own affair. 

Marry again, and we will not say no, 

Nor come to barstardise the kids you bear. 

Wait on in 'ope — you've all your life below 
Before you'll ever 'ear us on the stair. 

There is no need to give our reasons, though 
Gawd knows we all 'ad reasons which were fair; 

But other people might not judge 'em so — 
And now it doesn't matter what they were. 

What man can weigh or size another's woe? 

There are some things too bitter 'ard to bear. 
Suffice it we 'ave finished — Domino! 

As we can testify, for we are there, 
In the side-world where "wilful-missings" go. 

1 Vulture. 



550 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

UBIQUE 

{Royal Artillery) 

'~PHERE is a word you often see, pronounce it as you 

may — 
"You bike," "you bykwee," "ubbikwe" — alludin' to R. A. 
It serves 'Orse, Field, an' Garrison as motto for a crest, 
An* when you've found out all it means I'll tell you 'alf the 

rest. 



Ubique means the long-range Krupp be'ind the low-range 

'ill— 
Ubique means you'll pick it up an', while you do, stand still. 
Ubique means you've caught the flash an' timed it by the 

sound. 
Ubique means five gunners* 'ash before you've loosed a 

round. 



Ubique means Blue Fuse, 1 an' make the 'ole to sink the trail. 
Ubique means stand up an' take the Mauser's 'alf-mile 'ail. 
Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can 'old. 
Ubique means that 'orse's scream which turns your innards 
cold! 



Ubique means "Bank, 'Olborn, Bank — a penny all the 

way" — 
The soothin', jingle-bump-an'-clank from day to peaceful 

day. 
Ubique means "They've caught De Wet, an' now we sha'n't 

be long." 
Ubique means "I much regret, the beggar's goin* strong!" 

1 Extreme range. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 



33 



Ubique means the tearin' drift where, breech-blocks jammed 

with mud, 
The khaki muzzles duck an' lift across the khaki flood. 
Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers. 
Ubique means the mirage again an' shellin' all outdoors. 

Ubique means "Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein"! 
Ubique means "Off-load your guns" — at midnight in the 

rain! 
Ubique means "More mounted men. Return all guns 

to store." 
Ubique means the R. A. M. R. Infantillery Corps! 

Ubique means that warnin' grunt the perished linesman 

knows, 
When o'er 'is strung an' sufferin' front the shrapnel sprays 'is 

foes; 
An' as their firin' dies away the 'usky whisper runs 
From lips that 'ave n't drunk all day: "The Guns! Thank 

Gawd, the Guns!" 

Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any'ow, 
From Colesberg Kop to Quagga's Poort — from Ninety-Nine 

till now — 
By what I've 'eard the others tell an' I in spots 'ave seen, 
There's nothin' this side 'Eaven or 'Ell Ubique does n't mean! 



THE RETURN 

{All Arms) 

pEACE is declared, an' I return 

To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same; 
Things 'ave transpired which made me learn 
The size and meanin' of the game. 



552 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I did no more than others did, 

I don't know where the change began. 

I started as a average kid, 
I finished as a thinkin' man. 

If England was what England seems y 
An not the England of our dreams. 

But only putty, brass, an paint, 

'Ow quick we'd drop Vr / But she ain't! 

Before my gappin* mouth could speak 

I 'eard it in my comrade's tone; 
I saw it on my neighbour's cheek 

Before I felt it flush my own. 
An* last it come to me — not pride, 

Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole 
(If such a term may be applied), 

The makin's of a bloomin' soul. 

Rivers at night that cluck an' jeer, 

Plains which the moonshine turns to sea, 
Mountains which never let you near, 

An' stars to all eternity; 
An' the quick-breathin' dark that fills 

The 'ollows of the wilderness, 
When the wind worries through the 'ills — 

These may 'ave taught me more or less. 

Towns without people, ten times took, 

An' ten times left an' burned at last; 
An' starvin' dogs that come to look 

For owners when a column passed; 
An' quiet, 'omesick talks between 

Men, met by night, you never knew 
Until — 'is face — by shellfire seen — 

Once — an' struck off. They taught me too 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 553 

The day's lay-out — the mornin' sun 

Beneath your 'at-brim as you sight; 
The dinner-'ush from noon till one, 

An' the full roar that lasts till night; 
An' the pore dead that look so old 

An* was so young an hour ago, 
An* legs tied down before they're cold — 

These are the things which make you know. 



Also Time runnin' into years — 

A thousand Places left be'ind — 
An' Men from both two 'emispheres 

Discussin' things of every kind; 
So much more near than I 'ad known, 

So much more great than I 'ad guessed — 
An' me, like all the rest, alone — 

But reachin' out to all the rest! 



So 'ath it come to me — not pride, 

Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole 
(If such a term may be applied), 

The makin's of a bloomin' soul. 
But now, discharged, I fall away 

To do with little things again. . 
Gawd, '00 knows all I cannot say, 

Look after me in Thamesfontein! 1 



If England was what England seems, 
An not the England of our dreams. 

But only putty, brass, an paint, 

y 0w quick we'd chuck *er ! But she ain't! 

London. 



554 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



"CITIES AND THRONES AND POWERS" 

/^ITIES and Thrones and Powers, 

Stand in Time s eye, 
Almost as long as flowers. 

Which daily die: 
But, as new buds -put forth 

To glad new men, 
Out of the spent and unconsidered Earthy 

The Cities rise again. 

This season s Daffodil, 

She never hears, 
What change, what chance, what chill, 

Cut down last years; 
But with bold countenance, 

And knowledge small, 
Esteems her seven days' continuance y 

To be perpetual. 

So Time that is oer-kind, 

To all that be, 
Ordains us e'en as blind, 

As bold as she: 
That in our very death, 

And burial sure, 
Shadow to shadow, well persuaded, saith, 

"See how our works endure V* 



THE RECALL 

T AM the land of their fathers. 

In me the virtue stays. 
I will bring back my children, 
After certain days. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 555 

Under their feet in the grasses 
My clinging magic runs. 
They shall return as strangers. 
They shall remain as sons. 

Over their heads in the branches 
Of their new-bought, ancient trees, 
I weave an incantation 
And draw them to my knees. 

Scent of smoke in the evening, 
Smell of rain in the night — 
The hours, the days and the seasons, 
Order their souls aright, 

Till I make plain the meaning 
Of all my thousand years — 
Till I fill their hearts with knowledge, 
While I fill their eyes with tears. 



PUCK'S SONG 

IE you the ferny ride that steals 

Into the oak-woods far? 
O that was whence they hewed the keels 
That rolled to Trafalgar. 



S E > 



And mark you where the ivy clings 
To Bayham's mouldering walls? 
O there we cast the stout railings 
That stand around St. Paul's. 

See you the dimpled track that runs 
All hollow through the wheat? 
O that was where they hauled the guns 
That smote King Philip's fleet. 



556 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

(Out of the Weald, the secret Weald, 
Men sent in ancient years, 
The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field, 
The arrows at Poitiers!) 

See you our little mill that clacks, 

So busy by the brook? 

She has ground her corn and paid her tax 

Ever since Domesday Book. 

See you our stilly woods of oak, 
And the dread ditch beside? 
O that was where the Saxons broke 
On the day that Harold died. 

See you the windy levels spread 
About the gates of Rye? 
O that was where the Northmen fled, 
When Alfred's ships came by. 

See you our pastures wide and lone, 
Where the red oxen browse? 
O there was a City thronged and known. 
Ere London boasted a house. 

And see you, after rain, the trace 
Of mound and ditch and wall ? 
O that was a Legion's camping-place, 
When Csesar sailed from Gaul. 

And see you marks that show and fade, 
Like shadows on the Downs? 
O they are the lines the Flint Men made. 
To guard their wondrous towns. 

Trackway and Camp and City lost, 
Salt Marsh where now is corn — 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 557 

Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, 
And so was England born ! 

She is not any common Earth, 
Water or wood or air, 
But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, 
Where you and I will fare! 



THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS 

PHEY shut the road through the woods 
Seventy years ago. 
Weather and rain have undone it again, 
And now you would never know 
There was once a road through the woods 
Before they planted the trees. 
It is underneath the coppice and heath, 
And the thin anemones. 
Only the keeper sees 
That, where the ring-dove broods, 
And the badgers roll at ease, 
There was once a road through the woods. 

Yet, if you enter the woods 

Of a summer evening late, 

When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools 

Where the otter whistles his mate. 

They fear not men in the woods, 

Because they see so few 

You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, 

And the swish of a skirt in the dew, 

Steadily cantering through 

The misty solitudes, 

As though they perfectly knew 

The old lost road through the woods. . . „ 

But there is no road through the woods. 



:>:>' 



RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



A THREE-PART SONG 

"TM JUST in love with all these three, 

The Weald and the Marsh and the Down countre. 
Nor I don't know which I love the most, 
The Weald or the Marsh or the white Chalk coast! 

I've buried my heart in a ferny hill, 
Twix' a liddle low shaw an' a great high gill. 
Oh hop-bine yaller an' wood-smoke blue, 
I reckon you'll keep her middling true! 

I've loosed my mind for to out and run 
On a Marsh that was old when Kings begun. 
Oh Romney Level and Brenzett reeds, 
I reckon you know what my mind needs! 

I've given my soul to the Southdown grass, 
And sheep-bells tinkled where you pass. 
Oh Firle an' Ditchling an' sails at sea, 
I reckon you keep my soul for me ! 



THE RUN OF THE DOWNS 

HTHE Weald is good, the Downs are best — 
F 11 give you the run of 'em, East to West. 
Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill, 
They were once and they are still. 
Firle, Mount Caburn and Mount Harry 
Go back as far as sums '11 carry. 
Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring, 
They have looked on many a thing, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 559 

And what those two have missed between 'em, 

I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen 'em. 

Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down 

Knew Old England before the Crown. 

Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood 

Knew Old England before the Flood; 

And when you end on the Hampshire side — 

Butser's old as Time and Tide. 

The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn, 

You be glad you are Sussex born ! 



BROOKLAND ROAD 

f WAS very well pleased with what I knowed, 

I reckoned myself no fool — 
Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road, 
That turned me back to school. 

Low down — low down ! 
Where the liddle green lanterns shine — 
maids, I've done with 'ee all but one, 
And she can never be mine I 

'Twas right in the middest of a hot June night, 

With thunder duntin' round, 

And I see'd her face by the fairy light 

That beats from off the ground. 

She only smiled and she never spoke, 
She smiled and went away; 
But when she'd gone my heart was broke 
And my wits was clean astray. 



5<5o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

O, stop your ringing and let me be — 
Let be, O Brookland bells! 
You'll ring Old Goodman 1 out of the sea ; 
Before I wed one else! 

Old Goodman's Farm is rank sea-sand, 
And was this thousand year; 
But it shall turn to rich plough-land 
Before I change my dear. 

O, Fairfield Church is water-bound 
From autumn to the spring; 
But it shall turn to high hill-ground 
Before my bells do ring. 

O, leave me walk on Brookland Road, 
In the thunder and warm rain — 
O, leave me look where my love goed, 
And p'raps I'll see her again! 

Low down — low down I 
Where the liddle green lanterns shine — 
maids, I've done with y ee all but one, 
And she can never be mine I 



THE SACK OF THE GODS 

QTRANGERS drawn from the ends of the earth, jewelled 
and plumed were we; 

I was Lord of the Inca race, and she was Queen of the Sea. 

Under the stars beyond our stars where the new-forged mete- 
ors glow, 

Hotly we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago! 

x Earl Godwin of the Goodwin Sands? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 561 

Ever 'neath high Valhalla Hall the well-tuned horns begin, 
When the swords are out in the underworld, and the weary Gods 

come in. 
Ever through high Valhalla Gate the Patient Angel goes 
He opens the eyes that are blind with hate — he joins the hands 

of joes. 



Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above — 
Wrecks of our wrath dropped reeling down as we fought and 

we spurned and we strove. 
Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered them to 

and fro, 
The night that we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago! 



They are forgiven as they forgive all those dark wounds arid deep, 
Their beds are made on the Lap of Time and they lie down and 

sleep. 
They are forgiven as they forgive all those old wounds that bleed. 
They shut their eyesjrom their worshippers; they sleep till the 

world has need. 



She with the star I had marked for my own — I with my set 

desire — 
Lost in the loom of the Night of Nights — lighted by worlds 

afire — 
Met in a war against the Gods where the headlong meteors 

glow, 
Hewing our way to Valhalla, a million years ago! 



They will come back — come back again, as long as the red Earth 

rolls. 
He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think He would squan- 

der souls ? 



562 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE KINGDOM 



N< 



"OW we are come to our Kingdom, 
And the State is thus and thus; 
Our legions wait at the Palace gate — 
Little it profits us. 
Now we are come to our Kingdom ! 

Now we are come to our Kingdom, 

And the Crown is ours to take — 

With a naked sword at the Council board. 

And under the throne the snake. 

Now we are come to our Kingdom ! 

Now we are come to our Kingdom, 

And the Realm is ours by right, 

With shame and fear for our daily cheer, 

And heaviness at night. 

Now we are come to our Kingdom ! 

Now we are come to our Kingdom, 

But my love's eyelids fall. 

All that I wrought for, all that I fought for, 

Delight her nothing at all. 

My crown is of withered leaves, 

For she sits in the dust and grieves. 

Now we are come to our Kingdom ! 



TARRANT MOSS 

T CLOSED and drew for my love's sake 

That now is false to me, 
And I slew the Reiver of Tarrant Moss 
And set Dumenv free. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 563 

They have gone down, they have gone down, 
They are standing all arow — 
Twenty knights in the peat-water, 
That never struck a blow! 



Their armour shall not dull nor rust, 
Their flesh shall not decay, 
For Tarrant Moss holds them in trust, 
Until the Judgment Day. 



Their soul went from them in their youth, 
Ah God, that mine had gone, 
Whenas I leaned on my love's truth 
And not on my sword alone! 



Whenas I leaned on lad's belief 
And not on my naked blade — 
And I slew a thief, and an honest thief, 
For the sake of a worthless maid. 



They have laid the Reiver low in his place, 
They have set me up on high, 
But the twenty knights in the peat-water 
Are luckier than I ! 



And ever they give me gold and praise 
And ever I mourn my loss — 
For I struck the blow for my false love's sake 
And not for the Men of the Moss ! 



564 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

SIR RICHARD'S SONG 

(a. d. 1066) 

T FOLLOWED my Duke ere I was a lover. 

To take from England fief and fee; 
But now this game is the other way over — 
But now England hath taken me! 

I had my horse, my shield and banner, 
And a boy's heart, so whole and free; 

But now I sing in another manner — 
But now England hath taken me! 

As for my Father in his tower, 
Asking news of my ship at sea. 

He will remember his own hour — 
Tell him England hath taken me! 

As for my Mother in her bower, 
That rules my Father so cunningly, 

She will remember a maiden's power — 
Tell her England hath taken me! 

As for my Brother in Rouen City, 
A nimble and naughty page is he, 

But he will come to suffer and pity — 
Tell him England hath taken me! 

As for my little Sister waiting 

In the pleasant orchards of Normandie, 

Tell her youth is the time for mating — 
Tell her England hath taken me! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 565 

As for my comrades in camp and highway, 

That lift their eyebrows scornfully, 
Tell them their way is not my way — 

Tell them England hath taken me! 

Kings and Princes and Barons famed, 
Knights and Captains in your degree; 

Hear me a little before I am blamed — 
Seeing England hath taken me! 

Howso great man's strength be reckoned, 

There are two things he cannot flee. 
Love is the first, and Death is the second — 

And Love in England hath taken me! 



o 



A TREE SONG 

(a. d. 1200) 

|F ALL the trees that grow so fair, 
Old England to adorn, 
Greater are none beneath the Sun, 
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. 
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, 

(All of a Midsummer morn!) 
Surely we sing no little thing, 
In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! 

Oak of the Clay lived many a day, 

Or ever Aneas began. 
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home, 

When Brut was an outlaw man. 
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town 

(From which was London born) ; 
Witness hereby the ancientry 

Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! 



566 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yew that is old in churchyard-mould, 

He breedeth a mighty bow. 
Alder for shoes do wise men choose, 

And beech for cups also. 
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled, 

And your shoes are clean outworn, 
Back ye must speed for all that ye need, 

To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn ! 



Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth 

Till every gust be laid, 
To drop a limb on the head of him 

That anyway trusts her shade: 
But whether a lad be sober or sad, 

Or mellow with ale from the horn, 
He will take no wrong when he lieth along 

'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn ! 



Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, 

Or he would call it a sin; 
But — we have been out in the woods all night, 

A-conjuring Summer in! 
And we bring you news by word of mouth — 

Good news for cattle and corn — 
Now is the Sun come up from the South, 

With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! 



Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs 
(All of a Midsummer morn) ! 

England shall bide till Judgment Tide, 
By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 567 

THE FLOODS 

*"PHE rain it rains without a stay 

In the hills above us, in the hills; 
And presently the floods break way 

Whose strength is in the hills. 
The trees they suck from every cloud, 
The valley brooks they roar aloud — 
Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands, 

Lowlands under the hills! 



The first wood down is sere and small, 

From the hills — the brishings off the hills; 
And then come by the bats and all 

We cut last year in the hills; 
And then the roots we tried to cleave 
But found too tough and had to leave — 
Poking through the lowlands, lowlands, 
Lowlands under the hills! 



The eye shall look, the ear shall hark 
To the hills, the doings in the hills, 
And rivers mating in the dark 
With tokens from the hills. 
Now what is weak will surely go, 
And what is strong must prove it so— 
Stand fast in the lowlands, lowlands, 
Lowlands under the hills! 



The floods they shall not be afraid — 
Nor the hills above 'em, nor the hills- 

Of any fence which man has made 
Betwixt him and the hills. 



568 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The waters shall not reckon twice 
For any work of man's device, 
But bid it down to the lowlands, lowlands, 
Lowlands under the hills! 

The floods shall sweep corruption clean — 
By the hills, the blessing of the hills — 

That more the meadows may be green 
New-mended from the hills. 

The crops and cattle shall increase, 

Nor little children shall not cease. 

Go — plough the lowlands, lowlands, 
Lowlands under the hills! 



CUCKOO SONG 

(Spring begins in Southern England on the 14th April, on which date the: 
CMd Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair — locally 
known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.) 

'TpELL it to the locked-up trees, 

Cuckoo, bring your song here! 
Warrant, Act and Summons, please, 
For Spring to pass along here! 
Tell old Winter, if he doubt, 
Tell him squat and square — a! 
Old Woman! 
Old Woman! 

Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out 
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair — a I 

March has searched and April tried — 

'Tisn't long to May now. 

Not so far to Whitsuntide 

And Cuckoo's come to stay now! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 5 6 9 

Hear the valiant fellow shout 

Down the orchard bare — a! 

Old Woman! 

Old Woman! 

Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out 

At Heffle Cuckoo Fair— a! 

W T hen your heart is young and gay 

And the season rules it — 

Work your works and play your play 

'Fore the Autumn cools it! 

Kiss you turn and turn-about, 

But my lad, beware — a! 

Old Woman! 

Old Woman! 

Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out 

At Heffle Cuckoo Fair — a! 



A CHARM 

'"PAKE of English earth as much 

As either hand may rightly clutch. 

In the taking of it breathe 

Prayer for all who lie beneath. 

Not the great nor well-bespoke, 

But the mere uncounted folk 

Of whose life and death is none 

Report or lamentation. 

Lay that earth upon thy heart, 
And thy sickness shall depart! 

It shall sweeten and make whole 
Fevered breath and festered soul. 
It shall mightily restrain 
Over-busied hand and brain. 



570 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It shall ease thy mortal strife 
'Gainst the immortal woe of life, 
Till thyself, restored, shall prove 
By what grace the Heavens do move. 

Take of English flowers these — 
Spring's full-faced primroses, 
Summer's wild wide-hearted rose, 
Autumn's wall-flower of the close, 
And, thy darkness to illume, 
Winter's bee-thronged ivy-bloom. 
Seek and serve them where they bide 
From Candlemas to Christmas-tide, 
For these simples, used aright, 
Can restore a failing sight. 

These shall cleanse and purify 
Webbed and inward-turning eye; 
These shall show thee treasure hid, 
Thy familiar fields amid; 
And reveal (which is thy need) 
Every man a King indeed! 



THE PRAIRIE 

T SEE the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand, 

I see a river loop and run about a treeless land — 
An empty plain, a steely pond, a distance diamond-clear, 
And low blue naked hills beyond. And what is that to fear ? " 

"Go softly by that river-side or, when you would depart, 
You'll find its every winding tied and knotted round your 

heart. 
Be wary as the seasons pass, or you may ne'er outrun 
The wind that sets that yellowed grass a-shiver 'neath the 
un. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 571 

"I hear the summer storm outblown — the drip of the grateful 

wheat. 
I hear the hard trail telephone a far-off horse's feet. 
I hear the horns of Autumn blow to the wild-fowl overhead; 
And I hear the hush before the snow. And what is that to 

dread?" 



"Take heed what spell the lightning weaves — what charm the 

echoes shape — 
Or, bound among a million sheaves, your soul shall not escape. 
Bar home the door of summer nights lest those high planets 

drown 
The memory of near delights in all the longed-for town." 



"What need have I to long or fear? Now, friendly, I behold 
My faithful seasons robe the year in silver and in gold. 
Now I possess and am possessed of the land where I would be, 
And the curve of half Earth's generous breast shall soothe, 
and ravish me!" 



JOBSON'S AMEN 



"TJLESSED be the English and all their ways and works. 

Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!" 
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie 
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by. 



" But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down, 
To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown, walled town — 
Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome — 
And a low moon out of Africa said: 'This way home!'" 



572 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Blessed be the English and all that they profess. 
Cursed be the Savages that prance in nakedness!" 
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie 
Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by; 



"But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round, 
By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground — 
Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine — 
And a high sun over Asia shouting: 'Rise and shine!'" 



"Blessed be the English and everything they own. 
Cursed be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!" 
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie 
Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by: 



"But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and 

right, 
Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light — 
A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside — 
And a red wind out of Libya roaring: 'Run and hide!*' 



"Blessed be the English and all they make or do. 
Cursed be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true! 
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I mean to die 
Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by: 



"But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer 

and vast, 
In a million summits bedding on the last world's past — 
A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb, 
And — the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Timer* 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 573 

CHAPTER HEADINGS 

Plain Tales from the Hills 

f OOK, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these 

You bid me please? 
The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so! 
To my own Gods I go. 
It may be they shall give me greater ease 
Than vour cold Christ and tangled Trinities. 

Lispeth* 

When the earth was sick and the skies were grey, 
And the woods were rotted with rain, 
The Dead Man rode through the autumn day 
To visit his love again. 

His love she neither saw nor heard, 
So heavy was her shame; 
And tho* the babe within her stirred 
She knew not that he came. 

The Other Man, 

Cry "Murder" in the market-place, and each 

Will turn upon his neighbour anxious eyes 

Asking: "Art thou the man?" We hunted Cain 

Some centuries ago across the world. 

This bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain 

To-day. 

His Wedded Wife. 

Go, stalk the red deer o'er the heather, 
Ride, follow the fox if you can ! 
But, for pleasure and profit together, 



574 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Allow me the hunting of Man — 

The chase of the Human, the search for the Soul 

To its ruin — the hunting of Man. 

Pig- 

"Stopped in the straight when the race was his own 
Look at him cutting it — cur to the bone!" 
Ask ere the youngster be rated and chidden 
What did he carry and how was he ridden ? 
Maybe they used him too much at the start. 
Maybe Fate's weight-cloths are breaking his heart. 

In the Pride of his Youth, 

"And some are sulky, while some will plunge. 
(So ho ! Steady ! Stand still, you !) 
Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge. 
(There ! There I Who wants to kill you ?) 
Some — there are losses in every trade — 
Will break their hearts ere bitted and made, 
Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard, 
And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard." 

Thrown Away, 

The World hath set its heavy yoke 
Upon the old white-bearded folk 
W'ho strive to please the King. 
God's mercy is upon the young, 
God's wisdom in the baby tongue 
That fears not anything. 

Tod's Amendment. 

Not though you die to-night, O Sweet, and wail, 

A spectre at my door, 

Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail — 

I shall but love you more, 

W T ho, from Death's House returning, give me still 

One moment's comfort in my matchless ill. 

By Word of Mouth. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 575 

They burnt a corpse upon the sand — 

The light shone out afar; 

It guided home the plunging dhows 

That beat from Zanzibar. 

Spirit of Fire, where'er Thy altars rise, 

Thou art the Light of Guidance to-our eyes! 

In Error* 

Ride with an idle whip, ride with an unused heel, 
But, once in a way, there will come a day 
When the colt must be taught to feel 

The lash that falls, and the curb that galls, and the sting of 
the rowelled steel. 

The Conversion of Aurelian McGoggin* 

It was not in the open fight 

We threw away the sword, 

But in the lonely watching 

In the darkness by the ford. 

The waters lapped, the night-wind blew, 

Full-armed the Fear was born and grew, 

And we were flying ere we knew 

From panic in the night. 

The Rout of the White Hussars* 

In the daytime, when she moved about me, 

In the night, when she was sleeping at my side, — 

I was wearied, I was wearied of her presence. 

Day by day and night by night I grew to hate her — 

Would God that she or I had died ! 

The Bronckhorst Divorce Case. 

A stone's throw out on either hand 
From that well-ordered road we tread, 
And all the world is wild and strange; 
Churl and ghoul and Djinn and sprite 



576 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Shall bear us company to-night, 

For we have reached the Oldest Land 

Wherein the powers of Darkness range. 

In the House of Suddhoo, 



To-night, God knows what thing shall tide, 
The Earth is racked and fain — 
Expectant, sleepless, open-eyed; 
And we, who from the Earth were made, 
Thrill with our Mother's pain. 

False Dawn. 



Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide, 

By the hot sun emptied, and blistered and dried; 

Log in the plume-grass, hidden and lone; 

Bund where the earth-rat's mounds are strown; 

Cave in the bank where the sly stream steals; 

Aloe that stabs at the belly and heels, 

Jump if you dare on a steed untried — 

Safer it is to go wide — go wide! 

Hark, from in front where the best men ride; — 

"Pull to the off, boys ! Wide ! Go wide ! " 

Cupid's Arrows. 



He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse; 

He purchased raiment and forbore to pay; 

He stuck a trusting junior with a horse, 

And won gymkhanas in a doubtful way. 

Then, 'twixt a vice and folly, turned aside 

To do good deeds and straight to cloak them, lied. 

A Bank Fraud 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 577 



COLD IRON 

f y OLD is for the mistress — silver for the maid — 

Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade" 
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall, 
"But Iron — Cold Iron — is master of them all." 

So he made rebellion 'gainst the King his liege, 
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege. 
"Nay!" said the cannoneer on the castle wall, 
"But Iron — Cold Iron — shall be master of you all!" 

Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong, 
When the cruel cannon-balls laid 'em all along; 
lie was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall, 
And Iron — Cold Iron — was master of it all! 

Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!) 
"What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword r" 
"Nay!" said the Baron, "mock not at my fall, 
For Iron — Cold Iron — is master of men all." 

" Tears are for the craven , prayers are for the clown — 
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown." 
"As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small, 
For Iron — Cold Iron — must be master of men all!" 

Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!) 
"Here is Bread and here is Wine — sit and sup with me. 
Eat and drink in Mary's Name, the whiles I do recall 
How Iron — Cold Iron — can be master of men all!" 

He took the Wine and blessed it. He blessed and brake the 

Bread, 
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He 

said: 



578 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city 

wall, 
Show Iron — Cold Iron — to be master of men all: 

"Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong. 
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong. 
I forgive thy treason — I redeem thy fall — 
For Iron — Cold Iron — must be master of men all!" 

<l Crowns are for the valiant — sceptres for the bold ! 

Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold" 

"Nay!" said the Baron, kneeling in his hall, 

"But Iron — Cold Iron — is master of men all! 

Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!" 



A SONG OF KABIR 



O 1 



|H, LIGHT was the world that he weighed in his hands! 
Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands! 
He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud, 
And departed in guise of bairagi 1 avowed! 

Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet. 
The sal and the kikar 2 must guard him from heat. 
His home is the camp, and the waste, and the crowd — 
He is seeking the Way as bairagi avowed! 

He has looked upon Man, and his eyeballs are clear — 
(There was One; there is One, and but One, saith Kabir); 
The Red Mist of Doing has thinned to a cloud — 
He has taken the Path for bairagi avowed! 

To learn and discern of his brother the clod, 
Of his brother the brute, and his brother the God, 
He has gone from the council and put on the shroud 
("Can ye hear?" saith Kabir), a bairagi avowed! 

1 Wandering holy man. = Wayside trees. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 579 



A CAROL 

/~)UR Lord Who did the Ox command 

To kneel to Judah's King, 
He binds His frost upon the land 

To ripen it for Spring — 
To ripen it for Spring, good sirs, 

According to His Word. 
Which well must be as ye can see — 

And who shall judge the Lord? 



W T hen we poor fenmen skate the ice 

Or shiver on the wold, 
We hear the cry of a single tree 

That breaks her heart in the cold — 
That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs, 

And rendeth by the board. 
Which well must be as ye can see — 

And who shall judge the Lord? 



Her wood is crazed and little worth 

Excepting as to burn, 
That we may warm and make our mirth 

Until the Spring return — 
Until the Spring return, good sirs, 

When Christians walk abroad; 
Which well must be as ye can see — 

And who shall judge the Lord? 



God bless the master of this house, 
And all who sleep therein! 

And guard the fens from pirate folk, 
And keep us all from sin, 



580 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

To walk in honesty, good sirs, 
Of thought and deed and word! 

Which shall befriend our latter end. . 
And who shall judge the Lord? 



"MY NEW-CUT ASHLAR" 

fy|Y NEW-CUT ashlar takes the light 

Where crimson-blank the windows flare. 
By my own work before the night, 
Great Overseer, I make my prayer. 

If there be good in that I wrought 
Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine — 
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought 
I know, through Thee, the blame was mine. 

The depth and dream of my desire, 
The bitter paths wherein I stray — 
Thou knowest W 7 ho hast made the Fire, 
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay. 

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade, 
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain — 
Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade 
And manlike stand with God again! 

One stone the more swings into place 
In that dread Temple of Thy worth. 
It is enough that, through Thy Grace, 
I saw nought common on Thy Earth. 

Take not that vision from my ken — 
Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed. 
Help me to need no aid from men 
That I may help such men as need! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 581 

EDDFS SERVICE 

(a. d. 687) 

]£DDI, priest of St. Wilfrid 

In his chapel at Manhood End, 
Ordered a midnight service 
For such as cared to attend. 

But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, 
And the night was stormy as well. 

Nobody came to service, 
Though Ed.di rang the bell. 

'"Wicked weather for walking," 

Said Eddi of Manhood End. 
"But I must go on with the service 

For such as care to attend." 



The altar-lamps were lighted, — 
An old marsh-donkey came, 

Bold as a guest invited, 

And stared at the guttering flame. 

The storm beat on at the windows, 
The water splashed on the floor, 

And a wet, yoke-weary bullock 
Pushed in through the open door. 

"How do I know what is greatest, 
How do I know what is least? 

That is My Father's business," 
Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest. 



582 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"But — three are gathered together — 

Listen to me and attend. 
I bring good news, my brethren !" 

Said Eddi of Manhood End. 

And he told the Ox of a Manger 

And a Stall in Bethlehem, 
And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider, 

That rode to Jerusalem. 

They steamed and dripped in the chancel, 
They listened and never stirred, 

While, just as though they were Bishops, 
Eddi preached them The Word, 

Till the gale blew off on the marshes 
And the windows showed the day, 

And the Ox and the Ass together 
Wheeled and clattered away. 

And when the Saxons mocked him, 
Said Eddi of Manhood End, 

"I dare not shut His chapel 
On such as care to attend." 



THE LEGEND OF MIRTH 

*"pHE Four Archangels, so the legends tell, 

Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael, 
Being first of those to whom the Power was shown, 
Stood first of all the Host before The Throne, 
And, when the Charges were allotted, burst 
Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first. 
Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed 
Their own high judgment on their lightest deed. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 583 

Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given, 

Urged them unwearied to new toils in Heaven; 

For Honour's sake perfecting every task 

Beyond what e'en Perfection's self could ask. « . « 

And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride, 

Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied. 



It chanced on one of Heaven's long-lighted days, 
The Four and all the Host being gone their ways 
Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void 
Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed, 
With folden wings and slumber-threatened brow, 
To whom The Word: "Beloved, what dost thou?" 
"By the Permission," came the answer soft, 
"Little I do nor do that little oft. 
As is The Will in Heaven so on Earth 
Where by The Will I strive to make men mirth." 
He ceased and sped, hearing The Word once more: 
" Beloved, go thy way and greet the Four." 



Systems and Universes overpast, 

The Seraph came upon the Four, at last, 

Guiding and guarding with devoted mind 

The tedious generations of mankind 

Who lent at most unwilling ear and eye 

When they could not escape the ministry. . . 

Yet, patient, faithful, firm, persistent, just 

Toward all that gross, indifferent, facile dust, 

The Archangels laboured to discharge their trust 

By precept and example, prayer and law, 

Advice, reproof, and rule, but, labouring, saw 

Each in his fellows' countenance confessed, 

The Doubt that sickens: "Have I done my best?" 



5 8 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Even as they sighed and turned to toil anew, 
The Seraph hailed them with observance due; 
And, after some fit talk of higher things, 
Touched tentative on mundane happenings. 
This they permitting, he, emboldened thus, 
Prolused of humankind promiscuous, 
And, since the large contention less avails 
Than instances observed, he told them tales — 
Tales of the shop, the bed, the court, the street, 
Intimate s elemental, indiscreet: 
Occasions where Confusion smiting swift 
Piles jest on jest as snow-slides pile the drift 
Whence, one by one, beneath derisive skies, 
The victim^ bare, bewildered heads arise — 
Tales of the passing of the spirit, graced 
With humour Minding as the doom it faced — 
Stark tales of ribaldry that broke aside 
To tears, by laughter swallowed ere they dried- 
Tales to which neither grace nor gain accrue, 
But only (Allah be exalted!) true, 
And only, as the Seraph showed that night, 
Delighting to the limits of delight. 



These he rehearsed with artful pause and halt, 
And such pretence of memory at fault, 
That soon the Four — so well the bait was tlirown- 
Came to his aid with memories of their own — 
Matters dismissed long since as small or vain, 
Whereof the high significance had lain 
Hid, till the ungirt glosses made it plain. 
Then, as enlightenment came broad and fast, 
Each marvelled at his own oblivious past 
Until — the Gates of Laughter opened wide — 
The Four, with that bland Seraph at their side, 
While they recalled, compared, and amplified, 
In utter mirth forgot both Zeal and Pride! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 585 

High over Heaven the lamps of midnight burned 

Ere, weak with merriment, the Four returned, 

Not in that order they were wont to keep — 

Pinion to pinion answering, sweep for sweep, 

In awful diapason heard afar — 

But shoutingly adrift 'twixt star and star; 

Reeling a planet's orbit left or right 

As laughter took them in the abysmal Night; 

Or, by the point of some remembered jest, 

Winged and brought helpless down through gulfs unguessed. 

Where the blank worlds that gather to the birth 

Leaped in the Womb of Darkness at their mirth, 

And e'en Gehenna's bondsmen understood. 

They were not damned from human brotherhood . . . 

Not first nor last of Heaven's high Host, the Four 

That night took place beneath The Throne once more. 

O lovelier than their morning majesty, 

The understanding light behind the eye! 

O more compelling than their old command, 

The new-learned friendly gesture of the hand! 

O sweeter than their zealous fellowship, 

The wise half-smile that passed from lip to lip! 

O well and roundly, when Command was given, 

They told their tale against themselvec to Heaven, 

And in the silence, waiting on The Word, 

Received the Peace and Pardon of The Lord I 



SHIV AND THE GRASSHOPPER 



S HF 



EV, who poured the harvest and made the winds to 
blow, 

Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago, 
Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate, 
From the King upon the guddee 1 to the Beggar at the gate. 

1 Throne. 



586 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

All things made he — Shiva the Preserver. 

Mahadeo ! Mahadeo ! He ?nade all, — 

Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine, 

And Mother s heart for sleepy head, little Son of mine ! 



Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor, 

Broken scraps for holy men that beg from door to door; 

Cattle to the tiger, carrion to the kite, 

And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at 

night. 
Naught he found too lofty, none he saw too low — 
Parbati beside him watched them come and go; 
Thought to cheat her husband, turning Shiv to jest — - 
Stole the little grasshopper and hid it in her breast. 

So she tricked him, Shiva the Preserver. 

Mahadeo ! Mahadeo, turn and see ! 

Tall are the camels, heavy are the kine, 

But this was Least of Little Things, little Son of mine ! 



When the dole was ended, laughingly she said, 
"Master, of a million mouths is not one unfed?" 
Laughing, Shiv made answer, "All have had their part, 
Even he, the little one, hidden 'neath thy heart." 
From her breast she plucked it, Parbati the thief, 
Saw the Least of Little Things gnawed a new-grown leaf! 
Saw and feared and wondered, making prayer to Shiv, 
Who hath surely given meat to all that live! 

All things made he — Shiva the Preserver. 

Mahadeo ! Mahadeo ! He made all, — 

Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine, 

And Mother s heart for sleepy head, little Son of mine ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 587 

THE FAIRIES' SIEGE 

T HAVE been given my charge to keep — 

Well have I kept the same! 
Playing with strife for the most of my life, 
But this is a different game. 
I'M not fight against swords unseen, 
Or spears that I cannot view — 
Hand him the keys of the place on your knees — 
'Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true ! 

Ask him his terms and accept them at once. 

Quick, ere we anger him, go! 

Never before have I flinched from the guns, 

But this is a different show. 

I'll not fight with the Herald of God 

(I know what his Master can do!) 

Open the gate, he must enter in state, 

'Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true ! 

I'd not give way for an Emperor, 

I'd hold my road for a King — 

To the Triple Crown I would not bow down — 

But this is a different thing. 

I'll not fight with the Powers of Air, 

Sentry, pass him through! 

Drawbridge let fall, 'tis the Lord of us all, 

The Dreamer whose dreams come true! 



THE CHILDREN 

1 9 1 7 

HpHESE were our children who died for our lands: they 
were dear in our sight. 
We have only the memory left of their home-treasured 
sayings and laughter. 



5 88 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, not an^ 
other's hereafter. 
Neither the Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our 
right. 

But who shall return us the children ? 

At the hour the Barbarian chose to disclose his pretences, 
And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that 

they bared for us, 
The first felon-stroke of the sword he had long-time pre- 
pared for us — 
Their bodies were all our defense while we wrought our 
defenses. 

They bought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame 

us, 
Those hours which we had not made good when the Judgment 

o'ercame us. 
They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our 

learning 
Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning 
Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour — 
Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed 

upon her. 

Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them. 
The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemp- 
tion: 
Being cured they returned and endured and achieved our 
redemption, 
Hopeless themselves of relief, till Death, marvelling, closed 
on them. 

That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was 

given 
To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 589 

By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the 

wires — 
To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes — to be cindered by 

fires — 
To be senselessly tossed and retossed in stale mutilation 
From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation. 
But who shall return us our children ? 



A SONG TO MITHRAS 

(Hymn of the XXX Legion: circa 350 A. D.) 

\41THRAS, God of the Morning, our trumpets waken the 

iVA Wall! 

"Rome is above the Nations, but Thou art over all!" 

Now as the names are answered, and the guards are marched 

away, 
Mithras, also a soldier, give us strength for the day! 

Mithras, God of the Noontide, the heather swims in the heat. 
Our helmets scorch our foreheads, our sandals burn our feet. 
Now in the ungirt hour — now ere we blink and drowse, 
Mithras, also a soldier, keep us true to our vows! 

Mithras, God of the Sunset, low on the Western main — 
Thou descending immortal, immortal to rise again ! 
Now when the watch is ended, now when the wine is drawn, 
Mithras, also a soldier, keep us pure till the dawn! 

Mithras, God of the Midnight, here where the great bull dies, 
Look on thy children in darkness. Oh take our sacrifice! 
Many roads thou hast fashioned — all of them lead to the 

Light, 
Mithras, also a soldier, teach us to die aright! 



59Q RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD 

^yHO gives him the Bath? 

"I," said the wet, 
Rank-Jungle-sweat, 
"I'll give him the Bath! M 

Who'll sing the psalms? 
"We," said the Palms. 
"Ere the hot wind becalms, 
"We'll sing the psalms." 

Who lays on the sword? 
"I," said the Sun, 
"Before he has done, 
"I'll lay on the sword." 

Who fastens his belt? 
"I," said Short-Rations, 
"I know all the fashions 
"Of tightening a belt!" 

Who gives him his spur? 
"I," said his Chief, 
Exacting and brief, 
"I'll give him the spur." 

Who'll shake his hand? 
"I," said the Fever, 
"And I'm no deceiver, 
"I'll shake his hand." 

Who brings him the wine? 
"I," said Quinine, 
" It's a habit of mine, 
"/'ll come with his wine." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 591 

Who'll put him to proof? 
"I," said All Earth. 
"Whatever he's worth, 
"I'll put to the proof." 

Who'll choose him for Knight? 
"I," said his Mother, 
"Before any other, 
"My very own Knight." 

And after this fashion, adventure to seek, 

Was Sir Galahad made — as it might be last week! 



OUTSONG IN THE JUNGLE 

Baloo 

tj^OR the sake of him who showed 
One wise Frog the Jungle-Road, 
Keep the Law the Man-Pack make 
For thy blind old Baloo's sake! 
Clean or tainted, hot or stale, 
Hold it as it were the Trail, 
Through the day and through the night, 
Questing neither left nor right. 
For the sake of him who loves 
Thee beyond all else that moves, 
W T hen thy Pack would make thee pain, 
Say: "Tabaqui sings again.'* 
When thy Pack would work thee ill, 
Say: "Shere Khan is yet to kill." 
When the knife is drawn to slay, 
Keep the Law and go thy way. 
(Root and honey, palm and spathe, 
Guard a cub from harm and scathe!) 
Wood and Water > Wind and Tree, 
Jungle-Favour go with thee ! 



592 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



Kaa 

Anger is the egg of Fear — 
Only lidless eyes see clear. 
Cobra-poison none may leech — 
Even so with Cobra-speech. 
Open talk shall call to thee. 
Strength, whose mate is Courtesy. 
Send no lunge beyond thy length. 
Lend no rotten bough thy strength. 
Gauge thy gape with buck or goat, 
Lest thine eye should choke thy throat. 
x^fter gorging, wouldst thou sleep P 
Look thy den be hid and deep, 
Lest a wrong, by thee forgot, 
Draw thy killer to the spot. 
East and West and North and South, 
Wash thy hide and close thy mouth. 
(Pit and rift and blue pool-brim, 
Middle-Jungle follow him!) 
Wood and Water •, Wind and Tree> 
Jungle-Favour go with thee ! 

Bagheera 

In the cage my life began; 
Well I know the worth of Man. 
By the Broken Lock that freed — 
Man-cub, 'ware the Man-cub's breed! 
Scenting-dew or starlight pale, 
Choose no tangled tree-cat trail. 
Pack or council, hunt or den, 
Cry no truce with Jackal-Men. 
Feed them silence when they say: 
"Come with us an easy way." 
Feed them silence when they seek 
Help of thine to hurt the weak. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 

Make no bandar s boast of skill; 
Hold thy peace above the kill. 
Let nor call nor song nor sign 
Turn thee from thy hunting-line. 
(Morning mist or twilight clear, 
Serve him, Wardens of the Deer!) 
Wood and Water ■, Wind and Tree, 
Jungle-Favour go with theel 

The Three 

On the trail that thou must tread 
To the thresholds of our dread, 
Where the Flower blossoms red; 
Through the nights when thou shalt lie 
Prisoned fro?n our Mother-sky, 
Hearing us, thy loves, go by; 
In the dawns when thou shalt wake 
To the toil thou canst not break, 
Heartsick for the Jungle's sake; 
Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, 
Wisdom, Strength, and Courtesy, 
Jungle-Favour go with thee! 



HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN 

\J17HAT is a woman that you forsake her, 
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, 
To go with the old grey Widow-maker? 

She has no house to lay a guest in — 

But one chill bed for all to rest in, 

That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in. 

She has no strong white arms to fold you, 

But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you- 

Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you. 



594 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken, 

And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken, 

Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken — 

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters. 

You steal away to the lapping waters, 

And look at your ship in her winter-quarters. 

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables, 

The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables — 

To pitch her sides and go over her cables. 

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow. 
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow, 
Is all we have left through the months to follow. 

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her, 
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, 
To go with the old grey Widow-maker? 



THE THOUSANDTH MAN 

/"\NE man in a thousand, Solomon says, 
Will stick more close than a brother. 
And it's worth while seeking him half your days 
If you find him before the other. 
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend 
On what the world sees in you, 
But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend 
With the whole round world agin you. 

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show 
Will settle the finding for 'ee. 
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go 
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 595 

But if he finds you and you find him, 
The rest of the world don't matter; 
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim 
With you in any water. 



You can use his purse with no more talk 
Than he uses yours for his spendings, 
And laugh and meet in your daily walk 
As though there had been no lendings. 
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call 
For silver and gold in their dealings; 
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all. 
Because you can show him your feelings. 



His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right, 

In season or out of season. 

Stand up and back it in all men's sight — 

With that for your only reason! 

Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide 

The shame or mocking or laughter, 

But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side 

To the gallows- foot — and after! 






THE WINNERS 

\\/'HAT is the moral ? Who rides may read. 

When the night is thick and the tracks are blind 
A friend at a pinch is a friend indeed, 
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind. 
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 



596 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

White hands cling to the tightened rein, 
Slipping the spur from the booted heel, 
Tenderest voices cry "Turn again," 
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel, 
High hopes faint on a warm hearth stone — 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

One may fall but he falls by himself — 
Falls by himself with himself to blame. 
One may attain and to him is pelf — 
Loot of the city in Gold or Fame. 
Plunder of earth shall be all his own 
Who travels the fastest and travels alone. 

Wherefore the more ye be holpen and stayed 
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil, 
Sing the heretical song I have made — 
His be the labour and yours be the spoil. 
Win by his aid and the aid disown — 
He travels the fastest who travels alone! 



A ST. HELENA LULLABY 

'OW far is St. Helena from a little child at play?" 
What makes you want to wander there with all the world 
between ? 
Oh, Mother, call your son again or else he'll run away. 

(No one thinks of winter when the grass is green !) 



H 



"How far is St. Helena from a fight in Paris street?" 
I haven't time to answer now — the men are falling fast. 
The guns begin to thunder, and the drums begin to beat. 
(If you take the first step, you will take the last !) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 597 

"How far is St. Helena from the field of Austerlitz?" 
You couldn't hear me if I told — so loud the cannons roar. 
But not so far for people who are living by their wits. 
("Gay go up" means "Gay go down" the wide world o'er I) 

"How far is St. Helena from an Emperor of France?" 
1 cannot see — I cannot tell — the crowns they dazzle so. 
The Kings sit down to dinner, and the Queens stand up to 

dance. 
(After open weather you ?nay look for snow /) 

"How far is St. Helena from the Capes of Trafalgar?" 
A longish way — a longish way — with ten year more to run. 
It's South across the water underneath a falling star. 
(What you cannot finish you must leave undone /) 

"How far is St. Helena from the Beresina ice?" 
An ill way — a chill way — the ice begins to crack. 
But not so far for gentlemen who never took advice. 
(When you cant go forward you must e'en come back /) 

"How far is St. Helena from the field of Waterloo?" 
A near way — a clearway — the ship will take you soon. 
A pleasant place for gentlemen with little left to do. 
(Morning never tries you till the afternoon /) 

"How far from St. Helena to the Gate of Heaven's Grace?" 
That no one knows — that no one knows — and no one ever will. 
But fold your hands across your heart and cover up your face, 
And after all your trapesings, child, lie still! 



CHIL'S SONG 

T^HESE were my companions going forth by night- 
1 (For Chil ! Look you, for Chil /) 

Now come I to whistle them the ending of the fight. 
(Chil ! Vanguards of Chil !) 



593 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Word they gave me overhead of quarry newly slain, 
Word I gave them underfoot of buck upon the plain. 
Here's an end of every trail — they shall not speak again ! 

They that cried the hunting-cry — they that followed fast — 

(For Chil ! Look you J or Chil !) 
They that bade the sambhur wheel, or pinned him as he 
passed — 

(Chil ! Vanguards of Chil !) 
They that lagged behind the scent — they that ran before, 
They that shunned the level horn — they that over-bore. 
Here's an end of every trail — they shall not follow more. 

These were my companions. Pity 'twas they died! 

(For Chil ! Look you, for Chil !) 
Now come I to comfort them that knew them in their pride. 

(Chil ! Vanguards of Chil !) 
Tattered flank and sunken eye, open mouth and red, 
Locked and lank and lone they lie, the dead upon their dead. 
Here's an end of every trail — and here my hosts are fed! 



THE CAPTIVE 

"^"OT with an outcry to Allah nor any complaining 

He answered his name at the muster and stood to the 
chaining. 

When the twin anklets were nipped on the leg-bars that 
held them, 

He brotherly greeted the armourers stooping to weld them. 

Ere the sad dust of the marshalled feet of the chain-gang 
swallowed him, 

Observing him nobly at ease, I alighted and followed him. 

Thus we had speech by the way, but not touching his sor- 
row — 

Rather his red Yesterday and his regal To-morrow, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 599 

Wherein he statelily moved to the clink of his chains unre- 
garded, 

Nowise abashed but contented to drink of the potion awarded. 

Saluting aloofly his Fate, he made haste with his story, 

And the words of his mouth were as slaves spreading carpets 
of glory 

Embroidered with names of the Djinns — a miraculous weav- 
ing— 

But the cool and perspicuous eye overbore unbelieving. 

So I submitted myself to the limits of rapture — 

Bound by this man we had bound, amid captives his cap- 
ture — 

Till he returned me to earth and the visions departed. 

But on him be the Peace and the Blessing; for he was great- 
hearted ! 



THE PUZZLER 

T^HE Celt in all his variants from Builth to Bally-hoo, 
His mental processes are plain — one knows what he will 

do, 
And can logically predicate his finish by his start; 
But the English — ah, the English! — they are quite a race 

apart. 

Their psychology is bovine, their outlook crude and raw. 
They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw, 
But the straw that they were tickled with — the chaff that 

they were fed with — 
They convert into a weavers beam to break their foeman's 

head with. 

For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State, 
They arrive at their conclusions — largely inarticulate. 
Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none; 
But sometimes in a smoking-room, one learns why things 
were done. 



6oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yes, sometimes in a smoking-room, through clouds of "Ers" 
and "Urns," 

Obliquely and by inference, illumination comes, 

On some step that they have taken, or some action they ap- 
prove — 

Embellished with the argot of the Upper Fourth Remove 

In telegraphic sentences, half nodded to their friends, 
They hint a matter's inwardness — and there the matter ends. 
And while the Celt is talking from Valencia to Kirkwall, 
The English — ah, the English! — don't say anything at all. 



THE PRESS 

T^HE Soldier may forget his Sword, 

The Sailorman the Sea, 
The Mason may forget the Word 

And the Priest his Litany: 
The Maid may forget both jewel and gem, 

And the Bride her wedding-dress — 
But the Jew shall forget Jerusalem 

Ere we forget the Press! 

Who once hath stood through the loaded hour 

Ere, roaring like the gale, 
The Harrild and the Hoe devour 

Their league-long paper-bale, 
And has lit his pipe in the morning calm 

That follows the midnight stress — 
He hath sold his heart to the old Black Art 

We call the daily Press. 

Who once hath dealt in the widest game 

That all of a man can play, 
No later love, no larger fame 

Will lure him long away. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 60 1 

As the war-horse smelleth the battle afar, 

The entered Soul, no less, 
He saith: "Ha! Ha!" where the trumpets are 

And the thunders of the Press! 



Canst thou number the days that we fulfil, 

Or the Times that we bring forth? 
Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will, 

And cause them reign on earth? 
Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings 

To please his foolishness? 
Sit down at the heart of men and things, 

Companion of the Press ! 



The Pope may launch his Interdict, 

The Union its decree, 
But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked 

By Us and such as We. 
Remember the battle and stand aside 

While Thrones and Powers confess 
That King over all the children of pride 

Is the Press — the Press — the Press! 






HADRAMAUTI 

VV/'HO knows the heart of the Christian? How does he 

reason ? 
What are his measures and balances? Which is his season 
For laughter, forbearance or bloodshed, and what devils move 

him 
When he arises to smite us? I do not love him. 



602 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He invites the derision of strangers — he enters all places. 
Booted, bareheaded he enters. With shouts and embraces 
He asks of us news of the household whom we reckon name- 
less. 
Certainly Allah created him forty-fold shameless ! 



So it is not in the Desert. One came to me weeping — 
The Avenger of Blood on his track — I took him in keeping. 
Demanding not whom he had slain, I refreshed him, I fed him 
As he were even a brother. But Eblis had bred him. 



He was the son of an ape, ill at ease in his clothing. 

He talked with his head, hands and feet. I endured him with 

loathing. 
Whatever his spirit conceived his countenance showed it 
As a frog shows in a mud-puddle. Yet I abode it! 



I fingered my beard and was dumb, in silence confronting 

him. 
His soul was too shallow for silence, e'en with Death hunting 

him. 
I said: "'Tis his weariness speaks," but, when he had rested, 
He chirped in my face like some sparrow, and, presently, 

jested! 



Wherefore slew I that stranger? He brought me dishonour. 
I saddled my mare, Bijli, I set him upon her. 
I gave him rice and goat's flesh. He bared me to laughter. 
When he was gone from my tent, swift I followed after, 
Taking my sword in my hand. The hot wine had filled him. 
Under the stars he mocked me — therefore I killed him! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 603 



w 



CHAPTER HEADINGS 

The Naulahka 

T E MEET in an evil land 

That is near to the gates of hell. ) 
I wait for thy command 
To serve, to speed or withstand. 
And thou sayest, I do not well? 

Oh Love, the flowers so red 

Are only tongues of flame, 

The earth is full of the dead, 

The new-killed, restless dead. 

There is danger beneath and o'erhead, ) 

And I guard thy gates in fear 

Of words thou canst not hear, 

Of peril and jeopardy, 

Of signs thou canst not see — 

And thou sayest 'tis ill that I came? , 



This I saw when the rites were done, 
And the lamps were dead and the Gods alone, 
And the grey snake coiled on the altar stone — 
Ere I fled from a Fear that I could not see, 
And the Gods of the East made mouths at me. 



Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the 

Aryan brown, 
For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles and he weareth 

the Christian down; 
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name 

of the late deceased, 
And the epitaph drear: "A Fool lies here who tried to hustle 

the East." 



6o 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Beat oft* in our last fight were we ? 

The greater need to seek the sea. 

For Fortune changeth as the moon 

To caravel and picaroon. 

Then Eastward Ho! or Westward Ho! 

Whichever wind may meetest blow. 

Our quarry sails on either sea, 

Fat prey for such bold lads as we, 

And every sun-dried buccaneer 

Must hand and reef and watch and steer. 

And bear great wrath of sea and sky 

Before the plate-ships wallow by. 

Now, as our tall bows take the foam, 

Let no man turn his heart to home, 

Save to desire treasure more, 

And larger warehouse for his store, 

When treasure won from Santos Bay 

Shall make our sea-washed village gay. 



Because I sought it far from men, 
In deserts and alone, 
I found it burning overhead, 
The jewel of a Throne. 

Because I sought — I sought it so 
And spent my days to find — 
It blazed one moment ere it left 
The blacker night behind. 



When a lover hies abroad, 

Looking for his love, 

Azrael smiling sheathes his sword, 

Heaven smiles above. 

Earth and sea 

His servants be, 

And to lesser compass round, 

That his love be sooner found! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 605 

There was a strife 'twixt man and maid— 
Oh that was at the birth of time! 
But what befell 'twixt man and maid, 
Oh that's beyond the grip of rhyme. 
'Twas, "Sweet, I must not bide with you," 
And "Love, I cannot bide alone"; 
For both were young and both were true, 
And both were hard as the nether stone. 



There is pleasure in the wet, wet clay, 

When the artist's hand is potting it; 

There is pleasure in the wet, wet lay; 

When the poet's pad is blotting it; 

There is pleasure in the shine of your picture on the line 

At the Royal Acade-my; 

But the pleasure felt in these is as chalk to Cheddar cheese 

When it comes to a well-made Lie. — 

To a quite unwreckable Lie, 

To a most impeccable Lie ! 

To a water-tight, fire-proof, angle-iron, sunk-hinge, time-lock, 

steel-faced Lie! 
Not a private hansom Lie, 
But a pair-and-brougham Lie, 
Not a little-place-at-Tooting, but a country-house-with 

shooting 
And a ring-fence-deer-park Lie. 



We be the Gods of the East — 

Older than all — 
Masters of Mourning and Feast 

How shall we fall? 



606 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Will they gape for the husks that ye proffer 

Or yearn to your song? 
And we — have we nothing to offer 
Who ruled them so long — 
In the fume of the incense, the clash of the cymbals, the blare 
of the conch and the gong? 

Over the strife of the schools 

Low the day burns — 
Back with the kine from the pools 
Each one returns 
To the life that he knows where the altar-flame glows and 
the tulsi 1 is trimmed in the urns. 



The Light That Failed 

CO WE settled it all when the storm was done 

As comfy as comfy could be; 
And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, 
Because I was only three; 
And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot 
Because he was five and a man; 
And that's how it all began, my dears, 
And that's how it all began! 



"If I have taken the common clay 

And wrought it cunningly 
In the shape of a God that was digged a clod, 

The greater honour to me." 
"If thou hast taken the common clay, 

And thy hands be not free 
From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil 

The greater shame to thee." 

iThe Holy Basil. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 607 

The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, 

When the smoke of the cooking hung grey: 

He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn. 

And he looked to his strength for his prey. 

But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away, 

And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, 

And he bayed to the moon as she rose. 



The lark will make her hymn to God, 
The partridge call her brood, 
While I forget the heath I trod, 
The fields wherein I stood. 

'Tis dule to know not night from morn, 
But greater dule to know 
I can but hear the hunter's horn 
That once I used to blow. 



There were three friends that buried the fourth, 
The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes, 
And they went south and east and north — 
The strong man fights but the sick man dies. 

There were three friends that spoke of the dead — 
The strong man fights but the sick man dies — 
"And would he were here with us now," they said, 
"The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes." 



Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, 
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, 
Yet at the last, with his masters around him, 
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave. 
Yet at the last 5 though the Kafirs had maimed him, 
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver, 
Yet at the last, tho y the darkness had claimed him, 
He called upon Allah, and died a Believer! 



6o8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

GALLIO'S SONG 

(And Gallio cared for none of these things. — Acts xviii, 17) 

A LL day long to the judgment-seat 

The crazed Provincials drew — 
All day long at their ruler's feet 
Howled for the blood of the Jew. 
Insurrection with one accord 
Banded itself and woke; 
And Paul was about to open his mouth 
When Achaia's Deputy spoke — 

"Whether the God descend from above 
Or the Man ascend upon high, 
Whether this maker of tents be Jove 
Or a younger deity — 
I will be no judge between your gods 
And your godless bickerings. 
Lictor, drive them hence with rods 
I care for none of these things ! 

Were it a question of lawful due 

Or Caesar's rule denied, 

Reason would I should bear with you 

And order it well to be tried; 

But this is a question of words and names. 

I know the strife it brings. 

I will not pass upon any your claims. 

I care for none of these things. 

One thing only I see most clear, 
As I pray you also see. 
Claudius Caesar hath set me here 
Rome's Deputy to be. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 609 

It is Her peace that ye go to break — 

Not mine, nor any king's. 

But, touching your clamour of ' Conscience sake,' 

I care for none of these things. 

Whether ye rise for the sake of a creed, 
Or riot in hope of spoil, 
Equally will I punish the deed, 
Equally check the broil; 
Nowise permitting injustice at all 
From whatever doctrine it springs — 
But — whether ye follow Priapus or Paul, 
I care for none of these things I" 



THE BEES AND THE FLIES 

A FARMER of the Augustan Age 
Perused in Virgil's golden page, 
The story of the secret won 
From Proteus by Cyrene's son — 
How the dank sea-god showed the swain 
Means to restore his hives again. 
More briefly, how a slaughtered bull 
Breeds honey by the bellyful. 

The egregious rustic put to death 

A bull by stopping of its breath, 

Disposed the carcass in a shed 

With fragrant herbs and branches spread, 

And, having well performed the charm, 

Sat down to wait the promised swarm. 

Nor waited long. The God of Day 
Impartial, quickening with his ray 
Evil and good alike, beheld 
The carcass — and the carcass swelled. 



6io RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Big with new birth the belly heaves 
Beneath its screen of scented leaveSo 
Past any doubt, the bull conceives! 

The farmer bids men bring more hives 
To house the profit that arrives; 
Prepares on pan, and key and kettle, 
Sweet music that shall make 'em settle; 
But when to crown the work he goes, 
Gods! What a stink salutes his nose! 



Where are the honest toilers? Where 

The gravid mistress of their care ? 

A busy scene, indeed, he sees, 

But not a sign or sound of bees. 

Worms of the riper grave unhid 

By any kindly coffin-lid, 

Obscene and shameless to the light, 

Seethe in insatiate appetite, 

Through putrid offal, while above 

The hissing blow-fly seeks his love, 

Whose offspring, supping where they supt, 

Consume corruption twice corrupt. 



ROAD-SONG OF THE BANDAR-LOG 

U"ERE we go in a flung festoon, 

Half-way up to the jealous moon! 

Don't you envy our pranceful bands? 

Don't you wish you had extra hands? 

Wouldn't you like if your tails were — so — 

Curved in the shape of a Cupid's bow? 
Now you're angry, but — never mind, 
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind' 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 611 

Here we sit in a branchy row. 



Thinking of beautiful things we know; 

Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do, 

All complete, in a minute or two — 

Something noble and grand and good, 

Won by merely wishing we could. 

Now we're going to — never mind, 
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind ! 

All the talk we ever have heard 
Uttered by bat or beast or bird — 
Hide or fin or scale or feather — 
Jabber it quickly and all together! 
Excellent! Wonderful! Once again! 
Now we are talking just like men. 

Let's pretend we are . . . Nevermind! 

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind ! 

This is the way of the Monkey-kind! 

Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines. 
That rocket by where, light and high, the wild-grape swings. 
By the rubbish in our wake, and the noble noise we make, 
Be sure — be sure, we're going to do some splendid things! 



THE FABULISTS 

i 9 i 4 - i 8 



W 



'HEN all the world would keep a matter hid, 
Since Truth is seldom friend to any crowd, 
Men write in fable, as old /Esop did, 

Jesting at that which none will name aloud. 
And this they needs mu,st do, or it will fall 
Unless they please they are not heard at all 



612 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When desperate Folly daily laboureth 

To work confusion upon all we have, 
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom's death, 

And banded Fear commandeth Honour's grave — 
Even in that certain hour before the fall 
Unless men please they are not heard at all. 

Needs must all please, yet some not all for need, 
Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain, 

But that men taking pleasure may take heed, 
Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain. 

Thus some have toiled but their reward was small 

Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all. 

This was the lock that lay upon our lips, 
This was the yoke that we have undergone, 

Denying us all pleasant fellowships 
As in our time and generation. 

Our pleasures unpursued age past recall. 

And for our pains — we are not heard at all. 

What man hears aught except the groaning guns? 

What man heeds aught save what each instant brings? 
When each man's life all imaged life outruns, 

What man shall pleasure in imaginings? 
So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall, 
We are not, nor we were not, heard at all. 



"OUR FATHERS ALSO" 

'"PHRONES, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings, 

Are changing 'neath our hand. 
Our fathers also see these things 
But they do not understand. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 613 

By — they are by with mirth and tears, 
Wit or the works of Desire — 
Cushioned about on the kindly years 
Between the wall and the fire. 



The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked- 
Standeth no more to glean; 
For the Gates of Love and Learning locked 
When thev went out between. 



Ail lore our Lady Venus bares, 
Signalled it was or told 
By the dear lips long given to theirs 
And longer to the mould. 

All Profit, all Device, all Truth 
Written it was or said 
By the mighty men of their mighty youth, 
Which is mighty being dead. 

The film that floats before their eyes 
The Temple's Veil they call; 
And the dust that on the Shewbread lies 
Is holy over all. 

Warn them of seas that slip our yoke 
Of slow-conspiring stars — 
The ancient Front of Things unbroke 
But heavy with new wars? 

By — they are by with mirth and tears, 
Wit or the waste of Desire — 
Cushioned about on the kindly years 
Between the wall and the fire! 



6i 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG 

(A. D. 406) 

\/|Y FATHER'S father saw it not, . 

And I, belike, shall never come, 
To look on that so-holy spot — 
The very Rome — 

Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might 

The equal work of Gods and Man, 
City beneath whose oldest height — 
The Race began! 

Soon to send forth again a brood, 

Unshakeable, we pray, that clings, 
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood — 
In arduous things. 

Strong heart with triple armour bound, 
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs, 
Age after Age, the Empire round — 
In us thy Sons 

Who, distant from the Seven Hills, 
Loving and serving much, require 
Thee — thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills, 
The Imperial Fire! 



A PICT SONG 

"D OME never looks where she treads. 

Always her heavy hooves fall, 
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; 
And Rome never heeds when we bawl. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 615 

Her sentries pass on — that is all, 

And we gather behind them in hordes, 

And plot to reconquer the Wall, 

With only our tongues for our swords. 



Too little to love or to hate. 
Leave us alone and you'll see 

How we can drag down the State! 
We are the worm in the wood! 

We are the rot at the root! 
We are the taint in the blood! 

We are the thorn in the foot! 



Mistletoe killing an oak — 

Rats gnawing cables in two — 
Moths making holes in a cloak — 

How they must love what they do! 
Yes — and we Little Folk too, 

We are busy as they— 
Working our works out of view — 

Watch, and you'll see it some day! 



No indeed! W 7 e are not strong, 

But we know Peoples that are. 
Yes, and we'll guide them along, 

To smash and destroy you in War! 
We shall be slaves just the same? 

Yes, we have always been slaves, 
But you — you will die of the shame, 

And then we shall dance on your graves! 

We are the Little Folk, we, etc. 



616 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE STRANGER 

*"pHE Stranger within my gate, 

He may be true or kind, 
But he does not talk my talk — 

I cannot feel his mind. 
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, 

But not the soul behind. 

The men of my own stock 

They may do ill or well, 
But they tell the lies I am wonted to, 

They are used to the lies I tell. 
And we do not need interpreters 

When we go to buy and sell. 

The Stranger within my gates, 

He may be evil or good, 
But I cannot tell what powers control — 

What reasons sway his mood; 
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land 

Shall repossess his blood. 

The men of my own stock, 

Bitter bad they may be, 
But, at least, they hear the things I hear, 

And see the things I see; 
And whatever I think of them and their likes 

They think of the likes of me. 

This was my father's belief 

And this is also mine: 
Let the corn be all one sheaf — 

And the grapes be all one vine, 
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge 

By bitter bread and wine. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 617 

"RIMINI" 

(Marching Song of a Roman Legion of the Later Empire) 

\fyTHEN I left Rome for Lalage's sake 

By the Legions' Road to Rimini, 
She vowed her heart was mine to take 
With me and my shield to Rimini — 
(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini — ) 
And Fve tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul, 
And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall 
As white as the neck of Lalage — 
(As cold as the heart of Lalage !) 
And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul, 
And I've lost Rome and, worst of all, 
I've lost Lalage! 

When you go by the Via Aurelia, 

As thousands have travelled before, 

Remember the Luck of the Soldier 

Who never saw Rome any more ! 

Oh dear was the sweetheart that kissed him 

And dear was the mother that bore, 

But his shield was picked up in the heather. 

And he never saw Rome any more ! 

And he left Rome, etc. 

When you go by the Via Aurelia 
That runs from the City to Gaul, 
Remember the Luck of the Soldier 
Who rose to be master of all! 
He carried the sword and the buckler, 
He mounted his guard on the Wall, 
Till the Legions elected him Caesar, 
And he rose to be master of all! 

And he left Rome, etc. 



618 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It's twenty-five marches to Narbo, 

It's forty-five more up the Rhone, 

And the end may be death in the heather 

Or life on an Emperor's throne. 

But whether the Eagles obey us, 

Or we go to the Ravens — alone, 

I'd sooner be Lalage's lover 

Than sit on an Emperor's throne! 

We've all left Rome for Lalage's sake, etc. 



"POOR HONEST MEN" 

(a. d. 1800) 

Y^UR jar of Virginny 

Will cost you a guinea 
Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten; 
But light your churchwarden 
And judge it according, 
When I've told you the troubles of poor honest men. 

From the Capes of the Delaware, 

As you are well aware, 

We sail with tobacco for England — but then, 

Our own British cruisers, 

They watch us come through, sirs, 

And they press half a score of us poor honest men! 

Or if by quick sailing 

(Thick weather prevailing) 

We leave them behind (as we do now and then) 

We are sure of a gun from 

Each frigate we run from, 

Which is often destruction to poor honest men! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 619 

Broadsides the Atlantic 

We tumble short-handed, 

With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend, 

And off the Azores, 

Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs 

Are waiting to terrify poor honest men, 



Napoleon's embargo 

Is laid on all cargo 

Which comfort or aid to King George may intend; 

And since roll, twist and leaf, 

Of all comforts is chief, 

They try for to steal it from poor honest men! 



With no heart for fight, 

We take refuge in flight 

But fire as we run, our retreat to defend; 

Until our stern-chasers 

Cut up her fore-braces, 

And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men ! 



'Twixt the Forties and Fifties, 

South-eastward the drift is, 

And so, when we think we are making Land's End, 

Alas, it is Ushant 

With half the King's Navy, 

Blockading French ports against poor honest men! 



But they may not quit station 

(Which is our salvation) 

So swiftly we stand to the Nor'ard again; 

And finding the tail of 

A homeward-bound convoy, 

We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men. 



62o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Twix' the Lizard and Dover, 

We hand our stuff over, 

Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when. 

But a light on each quarter 

Low down on the water 

Is well understanded by poor honest men. 

Even then we have dangers, 

From meddlesome strangers, 

Who spy on our business and are not content 

To take a smooth answer, 

Except with a handspike . . . 

And they say they are murdered by poor honest men ! 

To be drowned or be shot 

Is our natural lot, 

Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end — 

After all our great pains 

For to dangle in chains 

As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men? 



"WHEN THE GREAT ARK" 

V^HEN the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay, 

Rode stately through the half-manned fleet, 
From every ship about her way 

She heard the manners entreat — 
"Before we take the seas again 
Let down your boats and send us men! 

" We have no lack of victual here 

With work — God knows! — enough for all, 

To hand and reef and watch and steer, 
Because our present strength is small. 

While your three decks are crowded so 

Your crews can scarcely stand or go. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 62 1 

"In war, vour numbers do but raise 

Confusion and divided will; 
In storm, the mindless deep obeys 

Not multitudes but single skill. 
In calm, your numbers, closely pressed, 
Must breed a mutiny or pest. 

"We, even on unchallenged seas, 

Dare not adventure where we would, 

But forfeit brave advantages 

For lack of men to make 'em good; 

Whereby, to England's double cost, 

Honour and profit both are lost!" 



PROPHETS AT HOME 

pROPHETS have honour all over the Earth, 
Except in the village where they were born, 
Where such as knew them boys from birth, 
Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn. 

When Prophets are naughty and young and vain, 
They make a won'erful grievance of it; 

(You can see by their writings how they complain), 
But O, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet! 

There's nothing Nineveh Town can give 
(Nor being swallowed by whales between), 

Makes up for the place where a man's folk live, 
Which don't care nothing what he has been. 

He might ha' been that, or he might ha' been this, 

But they love and thev hate him for what he is. 



622 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



JUBAL AND TUBAL CAIN 

TUBAL sang of the Wrath of God 

And the curse of thistle and thorn — 
But Tubal got him a pointed rod, 
And scrabbled the earth for corn. 
Old — old as that early mould, 

Young as the sprouting grain — 
Yearly green is the strife between 
Jubal and Tubal Cain! 

Jubal sang of the new-found sea, 

And the love that its waves divide — 
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree 
And passed to the further side. 
Black — black as the hurricane-wrack, 

Salt as the under-main — 
Bitter and cold is the hate they hold — 
Jubal and Tubal Cain ! 

Jubal sang of the golden years 

When wars and wounds shall cease — 
But Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears 
And showed his neighbours peace. 
New — new as the Nine point Two, 

Older than Lamech's slain — 
Roaring and loud is the feud avowed 
Twix' Jubal and Tubal Cain! 

Jubal sang of the cliffs that bar 

And the peaks that none may crown — 
But Tubal clambered by jut and scar 
And there he builded a town. 
High — high as the snowsheds lie, 

Low as the culverts drain — 
Wherever they be they can never agree — 
Jubal and Tubal Cain! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 623 

THE VOORTREKKER 

FHE gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break 

in fire. 
He shall fulfil God's utmost will, unknowing his desire. 
And he shall see old planets change and alien stars arise, 
And give the gale his seaworn sail in shadow of new skies, 
Strong lust of gear shall drive him forth and hunger arm his 

hand, 
To win his food from the desert rude, his pittance from the 

sand. 
His neighbours' smoke shall vex his eyes, their voices break 

his rest. 
He shall go forth till south is north sullen and dispossessed. 
He shall desire loneliness and his desire shall bring, 
Hard on his heels, a thousand wheels, a People and a King. 
He shall come back on his own track, and by his scarce-cooled 

camp 
There shall he meet the roaring street, the derrick and the 

stamp: 
There he shall blaze a nation's ways with hatchet and with 

brand, 
Till on his last-won wilderness an Empire's outposts stand! 



A SCHOOL SONG 

T ET us now praise famous men 

Men of little showing — 
For their work continueth> 
A?td their work continueth, 
Broad and deep continueth y 
Greater than their knowing ! 



624 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Western wind and open surge 
Took us from our mothers, 

Flung us on a naked shore 

(Twelve bleak houses by the shore! 

Seven summers by the shore!) 
'Mid two hundred brothers. 

There we met with famous men 

Set in office o'er us; 
And they beat on us with rods — 
Faithfully with many rods — 
Daily beat us on with rods, 

For the love they bore us! 

Out of Egypt unto Troy — 

Over Himalaya — 
Far and sure our bands have gone— » 
Hy-Brazil or Babylon, 
Islands of the Southern Run, 

And Cities of Cathaia! 

And we all praise famous men — 

Ancients of the College; 
For they taught us common sense — 
Tried to teach us common sense — 
Truth and God's Own Common Sense 
Which is more than knowledge! 

Each degree of Latitude 

Strung about Creation 
Seeth one or more of us 
(Of one muster each of us), 
Diligent in that he does, 

Keen in his vocation. 

This we learned from famous men, 

Knowing not its uses, 
When they showed, in daily work, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 625 

Man must finish off his work — 
Right or wrong, his daily work — 
And without excuses. 

Servants of the Staff and chain, 

Mine and fuse and grapnel — 
Some, before the face of Kings, 
Stand before the face of Kings; 
Bearing gifts to divers Kings — 

Gifts of case and shrapnel. 

This we learned from famous men 

Teaching in our borders, 
Who declared it was best, 
Safest, easiest, and best — 
Expeditious, wise, and best — 

To obey your orders. 

Some beneath the further stars 

Bear the greater burden: 
Set to serve the lands they rule, 
(Save he serve no man may rule), 
Serve and love the lands they rule; 

Seeking praise nor guerdon. 

This we learned from famous men, 

Knowing not we learned it. 
Only, as the years went by — 
Lonely, as the years went by — 
Far from help as years went by, 

Plainer we discerned it. 

Wherefore praise we famous men 

From whose bays we borrow — 
They that put aside To-day — 
All the joys of their To-day — 
And with toil of their To-day 

Bought for us To-morrow! 



626 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Bless and praise we famous men — 

Men of little showing — 
For their work continueth, 
And their work continueth, 
Broad and deep continueth, 
Great beyond their knowing ! 



THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE 

~XTOW this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the 

sky; 
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper -, but the Wolf that 

shall break it must die. 



As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth for- 
ward and back — 

For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the 
Wolf is the Pack. 

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never 

too deep; 
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day 

is for sleep. 

The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whisk- 
ers are grown, 

Remember the Wolf is a hunter — go forth and get food of 
thine own. 

Keep peace with the Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the 

Panther, the Bear; 
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in 

his lair. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 627 

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will 

go from the trail, 
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words 

shall prevail. 

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him 
alone and afar, 

Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be dimin- 
ished by war. 

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him 

his home, 
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council 

may come. 

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it 

too plain, 
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change 

it again. 

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods 

with your bay, 
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crops, and the brothers go 

empty away. 

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs 

as they need, and ye can; 
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill 

Man ! 

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy 

pride; 
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head 

and the hide. 

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat 

where it lies; 
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies. 



628 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do 

what he will, 
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that 

Kill. 
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack 

he may claim 
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse 

him the same. 
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year 

she may claim 
One haunch of each kill for her litter; and none may deny her 

the same. 
Cave-Right is the right of the Father— to hunt by himself 

for his own: 
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council 

alone. 
Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and 

his paw, , . 

In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of the Head Wolf 

is Law. 

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are 

they; 
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the 

hump is — Obey ! 

"A SERVANT WHEN HE REIGNETH" 

(For three things the earth is disquieted, and for four which it cannot bear. 
For a servant when he reigneth and a fool when he is filled with meat; for an 
odious woman when she is married, and an handmaid that is heir to her mis- 
tress. — Prov. xxx. 21-22-23.) 

'"FHREE things make earth unquiet 

And four she cannot brook 
The godly Agur counted them 
And put them in a book — 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 629 

Those Four Tremendous Curses 
With which mankind is cursed 
But a Servant when He^Reigneth 

Old Agur entered first. 

An Handmaid that is Mistress 

We need not call upon, 

A Fool when he is full of Meat 

Will fall asleep anon. 

An Odious Woman Married 

May bear a babe and mend, 

But a Servant when He Reigneth 

Is Confusion to the end. 

His feet are swift to tumult, 
His hands are slow to toil, 
His ears are deaf to reason, 
His lips are loud in broil. 
He knows no use for power 
Except to show his might. 
He gives no heed to judgment 
Unless it prove him right. 

Because he served a master 

Before his Kingship came, 

And hid in all disaster 

Behind his master's name, 

So, when his Folly opens 

The unnecessary hells, 

A Servant when He Reigneth 

Throws the blame on some one else. 



His vows are lightly spoken, 
His faith is hard to bind, 
His trust is easy broken, 
He fears his fellow-kind. 



630 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The nearest mob will move him 
To break the pledge he gave — 
Oh a Servant when He Reigneth 
Is more than ever slave! 



MACDONOUGH'S SONG 

A\/'HETHER the State can loose and bind 

In Heaven as well as on Earth: 
If it be wiser to kill mankind 

Before or after the birth — 
These are matters of high concern 

Where State-kept schoolmen are; 
But Holy State (we have lived to learn) 

Endeth in Holy War. 

Whether The People be led by The Lord, 

Or lured by the loudest throat: 
If it be quicker to die by the sword 

Or cheaper to die by vote — ■ 
These are things we have dealt with once, 

(And they will not rise from their grave) 
For Holy People, however it runs, 

Endeth in wholly Slave. 

Whatsoever, for any cause, 

Seeketh to take or give, 
Power above or beyond the Laws, 

Suffer it not to live! 
Holy State or Holy King — 

Or Holy People's Will- 
Have no truck with the senseless thing. 

Order the guns and kill ! 
Say ing — after — m e : — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1835-1918 63 



Once there was The People — Terror gave it birth; 
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth. 
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain! 
Once there was The People — it shall never be again ! 



"OUR FATHERS OF OLD" 

JPXCELLENT herbs had our fathers of old- 
Excellent herbs to ease their pain — 
Alexanders and Marigold, 

Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane. 
Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue, 

(Almost singing themselves they run) 
Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you — 
Cowslip, Melilot, Rose cf the Sun. 

Anything green that grew out of the mould 
Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old. 

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old 

Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars— 
The Sun was Lord of the Marigold, 

Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars. 
Pat as a sum in division it goes — 

(Every herb had a planet bespoke) — 
Who but Venus should govern the Rose? 

Who but Jupiter own the Oak? 

Simply and gravely the facts are told 

In the wonderful books of our fathers of old, 

Wonderful little, when all is said, 
Wonderful little our fathers knew. 

Half their remedies cured you dead — 

Most of their teaching was quite untrue — 



6 3 2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Look at the stars when a patient is ill, 
(Dirt has nothing to do with disease,) 
Bleed and blister as much as you will, 

Blister and bleed him as oft as you please." 
Whence enormous and manifold 
Errors were made by our fathers of old. 

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land, 

And neither planets nor herbs assuaged, 
They took their lives in their lancet-hand 

And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged! 
Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door — 

(Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,) 
Excellent courage our fathers bore — 

Excellent heart had our fathers of old. 
None too learned, but nobly bold 
Into the fight went our fathers of old. 

If it be certain, as Galen says — 

And sage Hippocrates holds as much — 
"That those afflicted by doubts and dismays 

Are mightily helped by a dead man's touch," 
Then, be good to us, stars above ! 

Then, be good to us, herbs below! 
We are afflicted by what we can prove, 
We are distracted by what we know — 
So — ah, so! 
Down from your heaven or up from your mould, 
Send us the hearts of our fathers of old ! 



THE HERITAGE 

(UR Fathers in a wondrous age, 
Ere yet the Earth was small, 
Ensured to us an heritage, 
And doubted not at all 



O 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 633 

That we, the children of their heart, 

Which then did beat so high, 
In later time should play like part 

For our posterity. 

A thousand years they steadfast built, 

To Vantage us and ours, 
The Walls that were a world's despair, 

The sea-constraining Towers: 
Yet in their midmost pride they knew, 

And unto Kings made known, 
Not all from these their strength they drew, 

Their faith from brass or stone. 

Youth's passion, manhood's fierce intent, 

With age's judgment wise, 
They spent, and counted not they spent, 

At daily sacrifice. 
Not lambs alone nor purchased doves 

Or tithe of trader's gold — 
Their lives most dear, their dearer loves, 

They offered up of old. 

Refraining e'en from lawful things, 

They bowed the neck to bear 
The unadorned yoke that brings 

Stark toil and sternest care. 
Wherefore through them is Freedom sure; 

Wherefore through them we stand, 
From all but sloth and pride secure, 

In a delightsome land. 

Then, fretful, murmur not they gave 

So great a charge to keep, 
Nor dream that awestruck Time shall save 

Their labour while we sleep. 



634 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Dear-bought and clear, a thousand year, 

Our fathers' title runs. 
Make we likewise their sacrifice, 

Defrauding not our sons. 



CHAPTER HEADINGS 

Beast and Man in India 1 

HpHEY killed a child to please the Gods 

In earth's young penitence, 
And I have bled in that Babe's stead 
Because of innocence. 

I bear the sins of sinful men 

That have no sin of my own, 

They drive me forth to Heaven's wrath 

Unpastured and alone. 

I am the meat of sacrifice, 

The ransom of man's guilt, 

For they give my life to the altar-knife 

Wherever shrine is built. 

The Goat. 

Between the waving tufts of jungle-grass, 
Up from the river as the twilight falls, 
Across the dust-beclouded plain they pass 
On to the village walls. 

Great is the sword and mighty is the pen, 
But over all the labouring ploughman's blade- 
For on its oxen and its husbandmen 
An Empire's strength is laid. 

The Oxen. 

1 By John Lockwood Kipling. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 035 

The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant. 
The saplings reeling in the path he trod, 
Declare his might — our lord the Elephant, 
Chief of the ways of God. 

The black bulk heaving where the oxen pant, 
The bowed head toiling where the guns careen, 
Declare our might — our slave the Elephant 
And servant of the Queen. 

The Elephant. 

Dark children of the mere and marsh, 
Wallow and waste and lea, 
Outcaste they wait at the village gate 
With folk of low degree. 

Their pasture is in no man's land, 
Their food the cattle's scorn, 
Their rest is mire and their desire 
The thicket and the thorn. 



But woe to those that break their sleep, 
And woe to those that dare 
To rouse the herd-bull from his keep, 
The wild boar from his lair! 

Pigs and Buffaloes. 

The beasts are very wise, 
Their mouths are clean of lies, 
They talk one to the other, 
Bullock to bullock's brother 
Resting after their labours, 
Each in stall with his neighbours. 
But man with goad and whip, 
Breaks up their fellowship. 



6 3 6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Shouts in their silky ears 
Filling their soul with fears. 
When he has ploughed the land, 
He says: "They understand." 
But the beasts in stall together, 
Freed from the yoke and tether, 
Say as the torn flanks smoke: 
"Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke/' 



Life's Handicap 

*T"*HE doors were wide, the story saith, 

Out of the night came the patient wraith. 
He might not speak, and he could not stir 
A hair of the Baron's minniver. 
Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin, 
He roved the castle to find his kin. 
And oh! 'twas a piteous sight to see 
The dumb ghost follow his enemy! 

The Return of Imray. 



Before my Spring I garnered Autumn's gain, 
Out of her time my field was white with grain, 
The year gave up her secrets, to my woe. 
Forced and deflowered each sick season lay 
In mystery of increase and decay; 
I saw the sunset ere men see the day, 
Who am too wise in all I should not know. 

Without Benefit of Clergy, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 637 

Kim 



INTO whose use the pregnant suns are poised, 
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars? 
Creep thou between — thy coming's all unnoised. 
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars 
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray 
(By Adam's, fathers', own, sin bound alway); 
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say 
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars. 



Many Inventions 

*"pHERE'S a convict more in the Central Jail, 

Behind the old mud wall; 
There's a lifter less on the Border trail, 
And the Queen's Peace over all, 
Dear boys, 
The Queen's Peace over all! 



For we must bear our leader's blame, 

On us the shame will fall, 

If we lift our hand from a fettered land 

And the Queen's Peace over all, 

Dear boys, 

The Queen's Peace over all! 

The Lost Legion, 



638 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

'Less you want your toes trod off you'd better get back at 

once, 
For the bullocks are walking two by two, 
The byles are walking two by two, 
And the elephants bring the guns. 
Ho! Yuss! 

Great — big — long — black — forty-pounder guns. 
Jiggery-jolty to and fro, 
Each as big as a launch in tow — 

Blind — dumb — broad-breeched — beggars o* battering-guns. 

My Lord the Elephant. 



All the world over, nursing their scars, 
Sit the old fighting-men broke in the wars- 
Sit the old fighting men, surly and grim 
Mocking the lilt of the conquerors' hymn. 



Dust of the battle o'erwhelmed them and hid, 
Fame never found them for aught that they did. 
Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew, 
Lining the road where the Legions roll through. 



Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed, 
(Worthy God's pity most — ye who succeed!) 
Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars, 
Pity poor fighting men, broke in the wars! 

Collected. 



pUT forth to watch, unschooled, alone, 

'Twixt hostile earth and sky; 
The mottled lizard 'neath the stone 
Is wiser here than I. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 639 

What stir across the haze of heat? 

What omen down the wind ? 
The buck that break before my feet — 

They know, but I am blind! 

Collected. 



I 9 I 4 — I 8 

PAREWELL and adieu to you, Harwich Ladies, 

Farewell and adieu to you, ladies ashore! 
For we've received orders to work to the eastward 
Where we hope in a short time to strafe 'em some more. 



WV11 duck and we'll dive like little tin turtles, 
We'll duck and we'll dive underneath the North Seas, 
Until we strike something that doesn't expect us, 
From here to Cuxhaven it's go as you please! 



The first thing we did was to dock in a minefield, 
Which isn't a place where repairs should be done; 
And there we lay doggo in twelve-fathom water 
With tri-nitro-toluol hogging our run. 



The next thing we did, we rose under a Zeppelin, 
With his shiny big belly half blocking the sky. 
But what in the — Heavens can you do with six-pounders? 
So we fired what we had and we bade him good-bye. 
Farewell and adieu, &c. 

Fringes of the Fleet, 



640 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

SONG OF THE FIFTH RIVER 

^OTHEN first by Eden Tree, 

The Four Great Rivers ran, 
To each was appointed a Man 
Her Prince and Ruler to be. 

But after this was ordained, 
(The ancient legends tell), 
There came dark Israel, 
For whom no River remained. 

Then He Whom the Rivers obey 

Said to him: "Fling on the ground 

A handful of yellow clay, 

And a Fifth Great River shall run, 

Mightier than these Four, 

In secret the Earth around; 

And Her secret evermore, 

Shall be shown to thee and thy Race." 

So it was said and done. 
And, deep in the veins of Earth, 
And, fed by a thousand springs 
That comfort the market-place, 
Or sap the power of Kings, 
The Fifth Great River had birth, 
Even as it was foretold — .. 
The Secret River of Gold! 

And Israel laid down 

His sceptre and his crown, 

To brood on that River bank, 

Where the waters flashed and sank, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 6 4 c 

And burrowed in earth and fell, 
And bided a season below, 
For reason that none might know, 
Save only Israel. 



He is Lord of the Last — 

The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood. 

He hears Her thunder past 

And Her Song is in his blood. 

He can foresay: "She will fall," 

For he knows which fountain dries 

Behind which desert-belt 

A thousand leagues to the South. 



He can foresay: "She will rise." 

He knows what far snows melt: 

Along what mountain-wall 

A thousand leagues to the North, 

He snuffs the coming drouth 

As he snuffs the coming rain, 

He knows what each will bring forth, 

And turns it to his gain. 



A Ruler without a Throne, 

A Prince without a Sword, 

Israel follows his quest. 

In every land a guest, 

Of many lands a lord, 

In no land King is he. 

But the Fifth Great River keeps 

The secret of Her deeps 

For Israel alone, 

As it was ordered to be. 



642 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE CHILDREN'S SONG 

[ AND of our Birth, we pledge to thee 
Our love and toil in the years to be; 
When we are grown and take our place, 
As men and women with our race. 

Father in Heaven who lovest all. 
Oh help Thy children when they call; 
That they may build from age to age, 
An undented heritage. 

Teach us to bear the yoke in youth, 
With steadfastness and careful truth; 
That, in our time, Thy Grace may give 
The Truth whereby the Nations live. 

Teach us to rule ourselves alway, 
Controlled and cleanly night and day; 
That we may bring, if need arise, 
No maimed or worthless sacrifice. 

Teach us to look in all our ends, 
On Thee forjudge, and not our friends; 
That we, with Thee, may walk uncowed 
By fear or favour of the crowd. 

Teach us the Strength that cannot seek, 
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak; 
That, under Thee, we may possess 
Man's strength to comfort man's distress. 

Teach us Delight in simple things, 
And Mirth that has no bitter springs; 
Forgiveness free of evil done, 
And Love to all men 'neath the sun! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 643 

Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride, 

For whose dear sake our fathers died; 

Oh Motherland, we pledge to thee, 

Head, heart, and hand through the years to be I 



PARADE-SONG OF THE CAMP-ANIMALS 

Elephants of the Gun-Teams 

W/'E LENT to Alexander the strength of Hercules, 

The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees. 
We bowed our necks to service — they ne'er were loosed 

again — 
Make way there, way for the ten-foot teams 
Of the Forty-Pounder train! 

Gun-Bullocks 

Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball, 
And what they know of powder upsets them one and all: 
Then we come into action and tug the guns again, — 
Make way there, way for the twenty yoke 
Of the Forty-Pounder train! 

Cavalry Horses 

By the brand on my withers, the finest of tunes 
Is played by the Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons, 
And it's sweeter than "Stables" or "Water" to me, 
The Cavalry Canter of " Bonnie Dundee ! " 

Then feed us and break us and handle and groom, 
And give us good riders and plenty of room, 
And launch us in column of squadron and see 
The Way of the War-horse to "Bonnie Dundee!" 



644 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



Screw-Gun Mules 

As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill, 

The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still; 

For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up every- 
where, 

And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two 
to spare! 

Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road! 

Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load ! 

For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up every- 
where, 

And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two 
to spare! 

Commissariat Camels 

We haven't a camelty tune of our own 

To help us trollop along, 

But every neck is a hair-trombone 

{Rtt-ta-ta-ta I is a hair-trombone !) 

And this is our marching-song: 

Cant I Don't! Shan 7 / Won't! 

Pass it along the line! 

Somebody's pack has slid from his back, 

'Wish it were only mine! 

Somebody's load has tipped off in the road — 

Cheer for a halt and a row! 

TJrrr ! Yarrh ! Grr ! Arrh ! 

Somebody's catching it now! 

All the Beasts Together 

Children of the Camp are we, 
Serving each in his degree; 
Children of the yoke and goad, 
Pack and harness, pad and -load. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 645 

See our line across the plain, 
Like a heel-rope bent again, 
Reaching, writhing, rolling far, 
Sweeping all away to war! 
While the men that walk beside, 
Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed, 
Cannot tell why we or they 
March and suffer day by day. 

Children of the Camp are we. 

Serving each in his degree; 

Children of the yoke and goad, 

Pack and harness , pad and load. 



IF- 



TF YOU can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

But make allowance for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: 



If you can dream — and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim, 
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

And treat those two impostors just the same; 
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 

And stoop an^ build 'em up with worn-out tools: 



646 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

And never breathe a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch, 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 

If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And — which is more — you'll be a Man, my son! 



THE PRODIGAL SON 

(Western Version) 



H 



ERE come I to my own again, 
Fed, forgiven and known again, 
Claimed by bone of my bone again 
And cheered by flesh of my flesh. 
The fatted calf is dressed for me, 
But the husks have greater zest for me, 
I think my pigs will be best for me, 
So I'm off to the Yards afresh. 

I never was very refined, you see, 
(And it weighs on my brother's mind, you 9ee) 
But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see 
For being a bit of a swine. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 647 

So I'm off with wallet and staff to eat 
The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat, 
But glory be! — there's a laugh to it, 
Which isn't the case when we dine. 



My father glooms and advises me, 
My brother sulks and despises me, 
And Mother catechises me 
Till I want to go out and swear. 
And, in spite of the butler's gravity, 
I know that the servants have it I 
Am a monster of moral depravity, 
And I'm damned if I think it's fair! 

I wasted my substance, I know I did, 

On riotous living, so I did, 

But there's nothing on record to show I did 

More than my betters have done. 

They talk of the money I spent out there — 

They hint at the pace that I went out there — 

But they all forget I was sent out there 

Alone as a rich man's son. 

So I was a mark for plunder at once, 

And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once, 

But I didn't give up and knock under at once, 

I worked in the Yards, for a spell, 

Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs, 

And shared their milk and maize with hogs, 

Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs 

And — I have that knowledge to sell! 

So back I go to my job again, 
Not so easy to rob again, 
Or quite so ready to sob again 
On any neck that's around. 



648 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you! 
God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you. 
I wouldn't be impolite to you, 
But, Brother, you are a hound! 



THE NECESSITARIAN 

T KNOW not in Whose hands are laid 

To empty upon earth 
From unsuspected ambuscade 
The very Urns of Mirth; 

Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise 
And cheer our solemn round — 

The Jest beheld with streaming eyes 
And grovellings on the ground; 

Who joins the flats of Time and Chance 

Behind the prey preferred, 
And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance 

The Sacredly Absurd, 

Till Laughter, voiceless through excess, 
Waves mute appeal and sore, 

Above the midriff's deep distress, 
For breath to laugh once more. 

No creed hath dared to hail Him Lord, 
No raptured choirs proclaim, 

And Nature's strenuous Overword 
Hath nowhere breathed His Name. 

Yet, it must be, on wayside jape, 

The selfsame Power bestows 
The selfsame power as went to shape 

His Planet or His Rose. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 649 

REBIRTH 

191 4-18 



I 



F ANY God should say 
"I will restore 
The world her yesterday 
Whole as before 
My Judgment blasted it" — who would not lift 
Heart, eye, and hand in passion o'er the gift? 



If any God should will 

To wipe from mind 

The memory of this ill 

Which is mankind 

In soul and substance now — who would not bless 

Even to tears His loving-tenderness? 



If any God should give 

Us leave to fly 
These present deaths we live, 
And safely die 
In those lost lives we lived ere we were born — 
What man but would not laugh the excuse to scorn? 



For we are what we are — ■ 

So broke to blood 
And the strict works of war — 
So long subdued 
To sacrifice, that threadbare Death commands 
Hardly observance at our busier hands. 



650 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yet we were what we were, 

And, fashioned so, 
It pleases us to stare 
At the far show 
Of unbelievable years and shapes that Hit, 
In our own likeness, on the edge of it. 



THE JESTER 

SPHERE are three degrees of bliss 

At the foot of Allah's Throne 
And the highest place is his 
Who saves a brother's soul 
At peril of his own. 
There is the Power made known! 



There are three degrees of bliss 
In the Gardens of Paradise, 
And the second place is his 
Who saves his brother's soul 
By excellent advice. 
For there the Glory lies! 



There are three degrees of bliss 
And three abodes of the Blest, 
And the lowest place is his 
Who has saved a soul by a jest 
And a brother's soul in sport . 
But there do the Angels resort! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 651 



A SONG OF TRAVEL 

XlfHERE'S the lamp that Hero lit 

Once to call Leander home ? 
Equal Time hath shovelled it 

'Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome. 
Neither wait we any more 
That worn sail which Argo bore. 

Dust and dust of ashes close 
All the Vestal Virgins' care; 

And the oldest altar shows 
But an older darkness there. 

Age-encamped Oblivion 

Tenteth every light that shone. 

Yet shall we, for Suns that die, 
Wall our wanderings from desire? 

Or, because the Moon is high 
Scorn to use a nearer fire? 

Lest some envious Pharaoh stir, 

Make our lives our sepulchre ? 

Nay ! Though Time with petty Fate 

Prison us and Emperors, 
By our Arts do we create 

That which Time himself devours — 
Such machines as well may run 
'Gainst the Horses of the Sun. 

When we would a new abode, 
Space, our tyrant King no more, 

Lays the long lance of the road 
At our feet and flees before, 

Breathless, ere we overwhelm, 

To submit a further realm! 



652 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE TWO-SIDED MAN 

V/f UCH I owe to the Lands that grew — 

More to the Lives that fed — 
But most to Allah Who gave me two 
Separate sides to my head. 

Much I reflect on the Good and the True 
In the Faiths beneath the sun, 
But most upon Allah Who gave me two 
Sides to my head, not one. 

Wesley's following, Calvin's flock, 
White or yellow or bronze, 
Shaman, ju-ju or Angekok, 
Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze — 

Here is a health, my brothers, to you, 
However your prayers are said, 
And praised be Allah Who gave me two 
Separate sides to my head! 

/ would go without shirt or shoe, 
Friend, tobacco or bread, 
Sooner than lose for a minute the two 
Separate sides of my head! 



A TRANSLATION 
(Horace, Bk. V. Ode 3) 

HpHERE are whose study is of smells, 

And to attentive schools rehearse 
How something mixed with something else 
Makes something worse. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 653 

Some cultivate in broths impure 

The clients of our body — these, 
Increasing without Venus, cure, 

Or cause, disease. 

Others the heated wheel extol, 

And all its offspring, whose concern 
Is how to make it farthest roll 

And fastest turn. 

Me, much incurious if the hour 

Present, or to be paid for, brings 
Me to Brundusium by the power 

Of wheels or wings; 

Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned 

Life-long, save that by Pindar lit, 
Such lore leaves cold. I am not turned 

Aside to it 

More than when, sunk in thought profound 
Of what the unaltering Gods require, 

My steward (friend but slave) brings round 
Logs for my fire. 



"LUKANNON" 
(Song of the Seal-rookeries, Aleutian Islands) 

[ MET my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!) 
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell 
rolled. 
I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers' 

song — 
The Beaches of Lukannon — two millicn voices strong! 



654 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons. 
The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes, 
The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame — 
The Beaches of Lukannon — before the sealers came ! 

I met my mates in the morning (I'll never meet thera more !) ; 
They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore. 
And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could 

reach 
We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach. 

The Beaches of Lukannon — the winter-wheat so tall — 
The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all ! 
The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn ! 
The Beaches of Lukannon — the home where we were born ! 

I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band. 
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land; 
Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame, 
And still we sing Lukannon — before the sealers came. 

Wheel down, wheel down to southward I Oh, Gooverooska go ! 
And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe; 
Ere, empty as the shark 's egg the tempest flings ashore, 
The Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more ! 



AN ASTROLOGER'S SONG 

*"pO THE Heavens above us 

O look and behold 
The Planets that love us 

All harnessed in gold! 
What chariots, what horses 

Against us shall bide 
While the Stars in their courses 

Do fight on our side? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 65 5 

All thought, all desires, 

That are under the sun, 
Are one with their fires, 

As we also are one. 
All matter, all spirit, 

All fashion, all frame, 
Receive and inherit 

Their strength from the same. 



Oh, man that deniest 

All power save thine own 
Their power in the highest 

Is mightily shown. 
Not less in the lowest 

That power is made clear. 
(Oh, man, if thou knowest, 

What treasure is here!) 

Earth quakes in her throes 

And we wonder for why. 
But the blind planet knows 

When her ruler is nigh; 
And, attuned since Creation 

To perfect accord, 
She thrills in her station 

And yearns to her Lord. 

The waters have risen, 

The springs are unbound — 
The floods break their prison, 

And ravin around. 
No rampart withstands 'em, 

Their fury will last, 
Till the Sign that commands 'em 

Sinks low or swings past. 



656 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Through abysses unproven, 

O'er gulfs beyond thought, 
Our portion is woven, 

Our burden is brought. 
Yet They that prepare it, 

Whose Nature we share, 
Make us who must bear it 

Well able to bear. 

Though terrors o'ertake us 

We'll not be afraid. 
No Power can unmake us 

Save that which has made: 
Nor yet beyond reason 

Or hope shall we fall — 
All things have their season, 

And Mercy crowns all! 

Then, doubt not, ye fearful — 

The Eternal is King — 
Up, heart, and be cheerful, 

And lustily sing: — 
What chariots^ what horses* 

Against us shall bide 
While the Stars in their courses 

Do fight on our side ? 



"THE POWER OF THE DOG" 

*TPHERE is sorrow enough in the natural way 

From men and women to fill our day; 
And when we are certain of sorrow in store, 
Why do we always arrange for more? 
Brothers and Sisters , I bid you beware 
Of giving your heart, to a dog to tear. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 6 S7 

Buy a pup and your money will buy 

Love unflinching that cannot lie — 

Perfect passion and worship fed 

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. 

Nevertheless it is hardly fair 

To risk your heart for a dog to tear* 



When the fourteen years which Nature permits 

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, 

And the vet's unspoken prescription runs 

To lethal chambers or loaded guns, 

Then you will find — it's your own affair — 

But . . . you've given your heart to a dog to tear. 



When the body that lived at your single will, 
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!). 
When the spirit that answered your every mood 
Is gone — wherever it goes — for good, 
You will discover how much you care. 
And will give your heart to a dog to tear. 



We've sorrow enough in the natural way, 

When it comes to burying Christian clay. 

Our loves are not given, but only lent, 

At compound interest of cent per cent. 

Though it is not always the case, I believe, 

That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: 

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, 

A short-time loan is as bad as a long — 

So why in — Heaven {before we are there) 

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear ? 



6 5 8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE RABBFS SONG 

(II Samuel xiv, 14.) 

JF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven, 

On Heaven let it dwell, 
For fear thy Thought be given 

Like power to reach to Hell. 
For fear the desolation 

And darkness of thy mind 
Perplex an habitation 

Which thou hast left behind. 

Let nothing linger after — 

No whimpering ghost remain, 
In wall, or beam, or rafter, 

Of any hate or pain. 
Cleanse and call home thy spirit, 

Deny her leave to cast, 
On aught thy heirs inherit, 

The shadow of her past. 

For think, in all thy sadness, 

What road our griefs may take; 
Whose brain reflect our madness, 

Or whom our terrors shake: 
For think, lest any languish 

By cause of thy distress — 
The arrows of our anguish 

Fly farther than we guess. 

Our lives, our tears, as water, 

Are spilled upon the ground; 
God giveth no man quarter, 

Yet God a means hath found, 
Though faith and hope have vanished, 

And even love grows dim — 
A means whereby His banished 

Be not expelled from Him! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 659 



THE BEE BOY'S SONG 

J2EES ! Bees ! Hark to your bees ! 

" Hide from your neighbours as much as you please. 
But all that has happened, to us you must tell, 
Or else we will give you no honey to sell 7" 



A maiden in her glory, 

Upon her wedding-day, 
Must tell her Bees the story, 
Or else they'll fly away. 
Fly away — die away — 

Dwindle down and leave you! 
But if you don't deceive your Bees, 
Your Bees will not deceive you. 



Marriage, birth or buryin', 

News across the seas, 
All you're sad or merry in, 
You must tell the Bees. 

Tell 'em coming in an' out, 
Where the Fanners fan, 
'Cause the Bees are just about 
x*\s curious as a man! 



Don't you wait where trees are, 

When the lightnings play, 
Nor don't you hate where Bees are, 
Or else they'll pine away. 

Pine away — dwine away — 
Anything to leave you ! 
But if you never grieve your Bees, 
Your Bees '11 never grieve you. 



66o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE SONG OF SEVEN CITIES 

[ WAS Lord of Cities very sumptuously builded. 

Seven roaring Cities paid me tribute from afar. 
Ivory their outposts were — the guardrooms of them gilded. 
And garrisoned with Amazons invincible in war. 

All the world went softly when it walked before my Cities — 
Neither King nor Army vexed my peoples at their toiL 
Never horse nor chariot irked or overbore my Cities, 
Never Mob nor Ruler questioned whence they drew their 
spoil. 

Banded, mailed and arrogant from sunrise unto sunset, 
Singing while they sacked it, they possessed the land at large. 
Yet when men would rob them, they resisted, they made 

onset 
And pierced the smoke of battle with a thousand-sabred 

charge. 



So they warred and trafficked only yesterday, my Cities. 
To-day there is no mark or mound of where my Cities stood. 
For the River rose at midnight and it washed away my Cities. 
They are evened with Atlantis and the towns before the 
Flood. 



Rain on rain-gorged channels raised the water-levels round 

them, 
Freshet backed on freshet swelled and swept their world 

from sight, 
Till the emboldened floods linked arms and, flashing forward, 

drowned them — 
Drowned my Seven Cities and their peoples in one night! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 66 1 

Low among the alders lie their derelict foundations, 

The beams wherein they trusted and the plinths whereon they 

built — 
My rulers and their treasure and their unborn populations, 
Dead, destroyed, aborted, and defiled with mud and silt! 

The Daughters of the Palace whom they cherished in my 

Cities, 
My silver-tongued Princesses, and the promise of their May — 
Their bridegrooms of the June-tide — all have perished in my 

Cities, 
With the harsh envenomed virgins that can neither love nor 

play. 

I was Lord of Cities — I will build anew my Cities, 
Seven, set on rocks, above the wrath of any flood. 
Nor will I rest from search till I have filled anew my Cities 
With peoples undefeated of the dark, enduring blood. 

To the sound of trumpets shall their seed restore my Cities 
Wealthy and well-weaponed, that once more may I behold 
All the world go softly when it walks before my Cities, 
And the horses and the chariots fleeing from them as of old ! 



THE RETURN OF THE CHILDREN 

"^"EITHER the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the 

cherubs* dove-winged races — 
Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the 

Dome, 
Plucking the splendid robes of the passers by, and with pitiful 

faces 
Begging what Princes and Powers refused: — "Ah, please 
• will you let us go home?" 



662 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Over the jewelled floor, nigh weeping, ran to them Mary the 

Mother, 
Kneeled and caressed and made promise with kisses, and 

drew them along to the gateway — 
Yea, the all-iron unbribeable Door which Peter must guard 

and none other. 
Straightway She took the Keys from his keeping, and opened 

and freed them straightway. 

Then, to Her Son, Who had seen and smiled, She said: "On 

the night that I bore Thee, 
What didst Thou care for a love beyond mine or a heaven 

that was not my arm? 
Didst Thou push from the nipple, O Child, to hear the angels 

adore Thee ? 
When we two lay in the breath of the kine ? " And He said : — 

"Thou hast done no harm." 

So through the Void the Children ran homeward merrily 
hand in hand, 

Looking neither to left nor right where the breathless Heav- 
ens stood still. 

And the Guards of the Void resheathed their swords, for thev 
heard the Command: 

"Shall I that have suffered the Children to come to Me hold 
them against their will?" 



MERROW DOWN 

I 

"PHERE runs a road by Merrow Down- 

A grassy track to-day it is — 
An hour out of Guildford town, 
Above the river Wev it is. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 663 

Here, when they heard the horse-bells ring, 
The ancient Britons dressed and rode 

To watch the dark Phoenicians bring 
Their goods along the Western Road. 

Yes, here, or hereabouts, they met 
To hold their racial talks and such — 

To barter beads for Whitby jet, 

And tin for gay shell torques and such. 

But long and long before that time 

(When bison used to roam on it) 
Did Taffy and her Daddy climb 

That Down, and had their home on it. 

Then beavers built in Broadstonebrook 

And made a swamp where Bramley stands; 

And bears from Shere would come and look 
For Taffimai where Shamley stands. 

The Wey, that Taffy called Wagai, 
Was more than six times bigger then; 

And all the Tribe of Tegumai 
They cut a noble figure then! 



II 

Of all the Tribe of Tegumai 

Who cut that figure, none remain, — 
On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry — 

The silence and the sun remain. 

But as the faithful years return 
And hearts unwounded sing again, 

Comes Taffy dancing through the fern 
To lead the Surrey spring again. 



664 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, 
And golden elf-locks fly above; 

Her eyes are bright as diamonds 
And bluer than the sky above. 



In mocassins and deer-skin cloak, 
Unfearing, free and fair she flits, 

And lights her little damp-wood smoke 
To show her Daddy where she flits. 

For far — oh, very far behind, 
So far she cannot call to him, 

Comes Tegumai alone to find 
The daughter that was all to him! 



OLD MOTHER LAIDINWOOL 

f)LD Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been 

dead. 
She heard the hops was doing well, an* so popped up her 

head, 
For said she: "The lads I've picked with when I was young 

and fair, 
They're bound to be at hopping and I'm bound to meet 'em 

there!" 



Let me up and go 

Back to the work I know , Lord ! 

Back to the work I know, Lord ! 

For it's dark where I lie down, My Lord ! 

An it's dark where I lie down ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 665 

Old Mother Laidinwool, she give her bones a shake, 

An' trotted down the churchyard-path as fast as she could 

make. 
She met the Parson walking, but she says to him, says she: — 
"Oh don't let no one trouble for a poor old ghost like me!" 

'Twas all a warm September an' the hops had flourished 

grand, 
She saw the folks get into 'em with stockin's en their hands; 
An' none of 'em was foreigners but all which she had known, 
And old Mother Laidinwool she blessed 'em every one. 

She saw her daughters picking an' their childern them-beside, 
An' she moved among the babies an' she stilled 'em when 

they cried. 
She saw their clothes was bought, not begged, an' they was 

clean an' fat, 
An' Old Mother Laidinwool she thanked the Lord for that. 

Old Mother Laidinwool she waited on all day 
Until it come too dark to see an' people went away — 
Until it come too dark to see an' lights began to show, 
An' old Mother Laidinwool she hadn't where to go. 

Old Mother Laidinwool she give her bones a shake, 

An' trotted back to churchyard-mould as fast as she could 

make. 
She went where she was bidden to an' there laid down her 

ghost, . . . 
An' the Lord have mercy on you in the Day you need it most ! 

Let me in again , 

Out of the wet an rain. Lord ! 

Out of the wet an rain, Lord ! 

For it's best as You shall say. My Lord .' 

An it's best as You shall say ! 



666 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE LAND 

VVTHEN Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, 

In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, 
He called to him Hobdenius — a Briton of the Clay, 
Saying: "What about that River-piece for Iayin* in to hay?" 

And the aged Hobden answered: "I remember as a lad 
My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad. 
An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her 

clean. 
Have it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen." 

So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman 

style — 
Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile, 
And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows 

show, 
We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years 

ago. 

Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do, 
And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too. 
Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern 

main 
And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane. 

Well could Ogier work his war-boat — well could Ogier wield 

his brand — 
Much he knew of foaming waters — not so much of farming 

land. 
So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood, 
Saying: "What about that River-piece, she doesn't look no 

good?" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 667 

And that aged Hobden answered: " 'Tain't for me to interfere, 
But I've known that bit o' meadow T now for five and fifty year. 
Have it jest as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on 

time, 
If you want to change her nature you have got to give her 

lime!" 

Ogier sent his wains to Lew r es, twenty hours' solemn walk, 
And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing 

chalk. 
And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was 

in't. 
Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint. 

Ogier died. His sons grew English — Anglo-Saxon was their 

name — 
Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came; 
For Duke William conquered England and divided with his 

men, 
And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne. 

But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy autumn 

night 
And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right. 
So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping 

rounds: 
"Hob, what about that River-bit — the Brook's got up no 

bounds?" 

And that aged Hobden answered: "'Tain't my business to 

advise, 
But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the 

valley lies. 
Where ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the 

sile. 
Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!" 



668 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow- 
trees 
And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees. 
And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away 
You can see their faithful fragments iron-hard in iron clay. 



Georgii ^uinti Anno Sexto, I, who own the River-field, 
Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed, 
Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs 
All sorts of powers and profits which — are neither mine nor 
theirs. 

I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires. 
I can fish — but Hobden tickles. I can shoot — but Hobden 

wires. 
I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege, 
Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a 

hedge. 

Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying 

dew? 
Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew? 
Confiscate his evening faggot under which the conies ran, 
And summons him to judgment? I would sooner summons 

Pan. 

His dead are in the churchyard — thirty generations laid. 
Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was 

made. 
And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line 
Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine. 

Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, 
Would I lose his large sound council, miss his keen amending 
eyes. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 669 

He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer, 
And if flagrantly a poacher — 'tain't for me to interfere. 

"Hob, what about that River-bit?" I turn to him again, 

With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne. 

"Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but" — and here he takes 

command. 
For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land. 



CHAPTER HEADINGS 

Just-So Stories 

\Xf HEN the cabin port-holes are dark and green 

Because of the seas outside; 
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between) 
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen, 

And the trunks begin to slide; 
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap, 
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep, 
And you are n't waked or washed or dressed, 
Why, then you will know (if you have n't guessed) 
You 're "Fifty North and Forty West!" 

How the Whale Got His Throat. 

The Camel's hump is an ugly lump 
Which well you may see at the Zoo; 

But uglier yet is the hump we get 
From having too little to do. 

Kiddies and grown-ups too-00-00, 
If we have n't enough to do-00-00, 

We get the hump — 

Cameelious hump — 
The hump that is black and blue! 



6 7 o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head 

And a snarly-yarly voice. 
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl 

At our bath and our boots and our toys; 

And there ought to be a corner for me 
(And I know there is one for you) 

When we get the hump — 

Cameelious hump — 
The hump that is black and blue! 

The cure for this ill is not to sit still, 

Or frowst with a book by the fire; 
But to take a large hoe and a shovel also, 

And dig till you gently perspire; 

And then you will find that the sun and the wind, 
And the Djinn of the Garden too, 

Have lifted the hump — 

The horrible hump — 
The hump that is black and blue! 

I get it as well as you-oo-oo — 
If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo! 

We all get hump — 

Cameelious hump — 
Kiddies and grown-ups too! 

How the Camel Got His Hump. 

I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones, 
"Let us melt into the landscape — just us two by our lones. 
People have come — in a carriage — calling. But Mummy i 

there. . . . 
Yes, I can go if you take me — Nurse says she don't care. 
Let's go up to the pig-styes and sit on the farmyard rails'. 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 67 r 

Let's say things to the bunnies, and watch 'em skitter then- 
tails ! 

Let's — oh, anything^ daddy, so long as it's you and me, 

And going truly exploring, and not being in till tea! 

Here's your boots (I've brought 'em), and here's your cap and 
stick, 

And here's your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out of it 
— quick! 

How the Leopard Got His Spots 



I keep six honest serving-men 

(They taught me all I knew); 
Their names are What and Why and When 

And How and Where and Who. 
I send them over land and sea, 

I send them east and west; 
But after they have worked for me, 

/ give them all a rest. 



I let them rest from nine till five, 

For I am busy then, 
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, 

For they are hungry men. 
But different folk have different views; 

I know a person small — 
She keeps ten million serving-men, 

Who get no rest at all ! 



She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs, 
From the second she opens her eyes — 

One million Hows, two million Wheres, 
And seven million Whys! 

The Elephant's Child. 



672 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a 

Boomer. 
Run in a single burst — only event of its kind — 
Started by Big God Nqong from Warrigaborrigarooma, 
Old Man Kangaroo first, Yellow-Dog Dingo behind. 

Kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons — 
Bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet at a bound. 
Yellow-Dog Dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance — 
Much too busy to bark. My! but they covered the ground! 

Nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that 

they flew in, 
For that Continent had n't been given a name. 
They ran thirty degrees, from Torres Straits to the Leeuwin 
(Look at the Atlas, please), then they ran back as they came. 

S'posing you could trot from Adelaide to the Pacific, 
For an afternoon's run — half what these gentlemen did — ■ 
You would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop 

terrific — 
Yes, my importunate son, you'd be a Marvellous Kid! 

The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo. 

I've never sailed the Amazon, 

I've never reached Brazil; 
But the Don and Magdakna, 

They can go there when they will! 

Yes, weekly from Southampton, 
Great steamers, white and gold, 
Go rolling down to Rio 
(Roll down — roll down to Rio!). 
And I'd like to roll to Rio 
Some day before I'm old! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 673 



I've never seen a Jaguar 
Nor yet an Armadill — 

O dilloing in his armour, 
And I s'pose I never wi] 



Unless I go to Rio 
These wonders to behold — 
Roll down — roll down to Ri( 
Roll really down to Rio! 
Oh, I'd love to roll to Rio 
Some day before I'm old! 

The Beginning of the Armadilloes. 



China-going P. and O.'s 

Pass Pau Amma's playground close, 

And his Pusat Tasek lies 

Near the track of most B. I.'s 

N.Y.K. and N.D.L. 

Know Pau Amma's home as well 

As the Fisher of the Sea knows 

"Bens," M.M.'s, and Rubattinos. 

But (and this is rather queer) 

A.T.L.'s can not come here; 

O. and O. and D.O.A. 

Must go round another way. 

Orient, Anchor, Bibby, Hall, 

Never go that way at all. 

U.C.S. would have a fit 

If it found itself on it. 

And if "Beavers" took their cargoes 

To Penang instead of Lagos, 

Or a fat Shaw-Savill bore 

Passengers to Singapore, 

Or a White Star were to try a 

Little trip to Sourabaya, 



674 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Or a B.S.A. went on 

Past Natal to Cheribon, 

Then great Mr. Lloyds would come 

With a wire and drag them home! 



You'll know what my riddle means 
When youVe eaten mangosteens. 

The Crab That Played with the Sea. 

Pussy can sit by the fire and sing, 

Pussy can climb a tree, 
Or play with a silly old cork and string 

To 'muse herself, not me. 
But / like Binkie my dog, because 

He knows how to behave; 
So, Binkie 1 s the same as the First Friend was, 

And I am the Man in the Cave! 

Pussy will play man-Friday till 

It's time to wet her paw 
And make her walk on the window-sill 

(For the footprint Crusoe saw); 
Then she fluffles her tail and mews, 

And scratches and won't attend. 
But Binkie will play whatever I choose, 

And he is my true First Friend! 

Pussy will rub my knees with her head 

Pretending she loves me hard; 
But the very minute I go to my bed 

Pussy runs out in the yard, 
And there she stays till the morning-light; 

So I know it is only pretend; 
But Binkie y he snores at my feet all night, 

And he is my Firstest Friend ! 

The Cat That Walked by Himself. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 675 

There was never a Queen like Balkis, 

From here to the wide world's end; 
But Balkis talked to a butterfly 

As you would talk to a friend. 

There was never a King like Solomon, 

Not since the world began; 
But Solomon talked to a butterfly 

As a man would talk to a man. 

She was Queen of Sabasa — 

And he was Asia's Lord — 
But they both of 'em talked to butterflies 

When they took their walks abroad! 

The Butterfly That Stamped. 



THE LOOKING-GLASS 

{A Country Dance) 

f^iUEEN Bess was Harry's daughter. Stand forward 

^ partners all ! 

In ruff and stomacher and gown 

She danced King Philip down-a down, 

. 4nd left her shoe to show 'twas true — 

{The very tune Tm playing you) 
In Norgem at Brickwall ! 1 

The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old, 
Her petticoat was satin, and her stomacher was gold. 
Backward and forward and sideways did she pass, 
Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass 
As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was! 

^ueen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now hand your partners all! 

1 A pair of Queen Elizabeth's shoes are still at Brickwall House, North- 

iam, Sussex. 



676 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair. 
There came Queen Mary's spirit and It stood behind her 

chair, 
Singing "Backward and forward and sideways may you pass, 
But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass 
As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!" 

Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now turn your -partners 
all I 

The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore, 
There came Lord Leicester's spirit and It scratched upon the 

door, 
Singing "Backward and forward and sideways may you pass, 
But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass, 
As hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!" 

Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now kiss your partners 
all! 

The Queen was in her chamber, her sins were on her head. 
She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said: — 
"Backward and forward and sideways though I've been, 
Yet I am Harry's daughter and I am England's Queen!" 
And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was) 
And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pass 
In the cruel looking-glass, that can always hurt a lass 
More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was! 



THE QUEEN'S MEN 

ATALOUR and Innocence 

Have latterly gone hence 
To certain death by certain shame attended. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 6 77 

Envy — ah! even to tears! — 

The fortune of their years 

Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended. 

Scarce had they lifted up 

Life's full and fiery cup, 

Than they had set it down untouched before them. 

Before their day arose 

They beckoned it to close — ■ 

Close in confusion and destruction o'er them. 

They did not stay to ask 

What prize should crown their task — 

Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for; 

But passed into eclipse, 

Her kiss upon their lips — 

Even Belphcebe's, whom they gave their lives for! 



THE CITY OF SLEEP 

/~\VER the edge of the purple down, 

Where the single lamplight gleams, 
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town 

That is hard by the Sea of Dreams — 
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, 

And the sick may forget to weep? 
But we — pity us! Oh, pity us! 

We wakeful; ah, pity us! — 
We must go back with Policeman Day — 

Back from the City of Sleep! 

Weary they turn from the scroll and crown, 
Fetter and prayer and plough — 

They that go up to the Merciful Town, 
For her gates are closing now. 



678 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It is their right in the Baths of Night 

Body and soul to steep, 
But we — pity us! ah, pity us! 

We wakeful; oh, pity us! — 
We must go back with Policeman Day — 

Back from the City of Sleep! 

Over the edge of the purple down, 

Ere the tender dreams begin, 
Look — we may look — at the Merciful Town, 

But we may not enter in! 
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall 

Back to our watch we creep: 
We — pity us! ah, pity us! 

We wakeful; oh, pity us! — 
We that go back with Policeman Day — 

Back from the City of Sleep! 



"HELEN ALL ALONE" 

THERE was darkness under Heaven 

For an hour's space — 
Darkness that we knew was given 

Us for special grace. 
Sun and moon and stars were hid, 

God had left His Throne, 
When Helen came to me, she did. 

Helen all alone! 

Side by side (because our fate 

Damned us ere our birth) 
We stole out of Limbo Gate 

Looking for the Earth. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 679 

Hand in pulling hand amid 

Fear no dreams have known, 
Helen ran with me, she did, 

Helen all alone! 



When the Horror passing speech 

Hunted us along, 
Each laid hold on each, and each 

Found the other strong. 
In the teeth of Things forbid 

And Reason overthrown, 
Helen stood by me, she did, 

Helen all alone! 



When, at last, we heard those Fires 

Dull and die away, 
When, at last, our linked desires 

Dragged us up to day; 
When, at last, our souls were rid 

Of what that Night had shown, 
Helen passed from me, she did, 

Helen all alone! 



Let her go and find a mate, 

As I will find a bride, 
Knowing naught of Limbo Gate 

Or Who are penned inside. 
There is knowledge God forbid 

More than one should own. 
So Helen went from me, she did. 
Oh my soul, be glad she did! 

Helen all alone! 



68o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE WIDOWER 

lyOR a season there must be pain — 

For a little, little space 
I shall lose the sight of her face, 
Take back the old life again 
While She is at rest in her place. 

For a season this pain must endure, 
For a little, little while 
I shall sigh more often than smile 
Till Time shall work me a cure, 
And the pitiful days beguile. 

For that season we must be apart, 
For a little length of years, 
Till my life's last hour nears, 
And, above the beat of my heart, 
I hear Her voice in my ears. 

But I shall not understand — 

Being set on some later love, 

Shall not know her for whom I strove, 

Till she reach me forth her hand, 

Saying, "Who but I have the right?" 

And out of a troubled night 

Shall draw me safe to the land. 



THE PRAYER OF MIRIAM COHEN 

PROM the wheel and the drift of Things 

Deliver us, Good Lord, 
And we will face the wrath of Kings 
The faggot and the sword ! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 68 1 

Lay not Thy Works before our eyes 
Nor vex us with Thy Wars 
Lest we should feel the straining skies 
O'ertrod by trampling stars. 

Hold us secure behind the gates 

Of saving flesh and bone, 

Lest we should dream what Dream awaits 

The soul escaped alone. 

Thy Path, Thy Purposes conceal 
From our beleaguered realm, 
Lest any shattering whisper steal 
Upon us and o'erwhelm. 

A veil 'twixt us and Thee, Good Lord, 
A veil 'twixt us and Thee, 
Lest we should hear too clear, too clear, 
And unto madness see ! 



THE COMFORTERS 

T JNTIL thy feet have trod the Road 

Advise not wayside folk, 
Nor till thy back has borne the Load 
Break in upon the broke. 

Chase not with undesired largesse 

Of sympathy the heart 
Which, knowing her own bitterness, 

Presumes to dwell apart. 



682 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Employ not that glad hand to raise 

The God-forgotten head 
To Heaven, and all the neighbours' gaze — 

Cover thy mouth instead. 

The quivering chin, the bitten lip, 
The cold and sweating brow, 

Later may yearn for fellowship — 
Not now, you ass, not now! 

Time, not thy ne'er so timely speech. 
Life, not thy views thereon, 

Shall furnish or deny to each 
His consolation. 



Or, if impelled to interfere, 
Exhort, uplift, advise, 

Lend not a base, betraying ear 
To all the victim's cries. 



Only the Lord can understand 
When those first pangs begin, 

How much is reflex action and 
How much is really sin. 

E'en from good words thyself refrain, 

And tremblingly admit 
There is no anodyne for pain 

Except the shock of it. 

So, when thine own dark hour shall fall, 
Unchallenged canst thou say: 

"I never worried you at all, 
For God's sake go away!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 683 



THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER 

XpRE Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People 
cry, 
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer, 

Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh- 
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear! 

Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, 
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near. 

And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now — 
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear! 

Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are 
ribbed with light, 
When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear, 
Comes a breathing hard behind thee — snuffle-snuffle through 
the night — 
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear! 
On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go; 

In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear! 
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left 
thy cheek — 
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear! 

When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered 
pine-trees fall, 
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer, 
Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud 
than all — 
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear! 
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boul- 
ders leap — 
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear — 
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy 
side 
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter — this is Fear! 



684 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

GOW'S WATCH 

Act II. Scene i. 

The pavilion in the Gardens. Enter Ferdinand and the King 

Ferdinand. Your tiercel's too long at hack, Sir. He's 
no eyass 
But a passage-hawk that footed ere we caught him, 
Dangerously free o' the air. 'Faith were he mine 
(As mine's the glove he binds to for his tirings) 
I'd fly him with a make-hawk. He's in yarak 
Plumed to the very point. So manned so — weathered! 
Give him the firmament God made him for 
And what shall take the air of him ? 

The King. A young wing yet 
Bold — overbold on the perch but, think you, Ferdinand, 
He can endure the raw skies yonder? Cozen 
Advantage out of the teeth of the hurricane? 
Choose his own mate against the lammer-geier? 
Ride out a night-long tempest, hold his pitch 
Between the lightning and the cloud it leaps from, 
Never too pressed to kill? 

Ferdinand. I'll answer for him. 
Bating all parable, I know the Prince. 
There's a bleak devil in the young, my Lord; 
God put it there to save 'em from their elders 
And break their father's heart, but bear them scatheless 
Through mire and thorns and blood if need be. Think 
What our prime saw! Such glory, such achievements 
As now our children, wondering at, examine 
Themselves to see if they shall hardly equal. 
But what cared we while we wrought the wonders ? Nothing ! 
The rampant deed contented. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 685 

The King. Little enough. God knows! But afterwards. — 
after — 
Then comes the reckoning. I would save him that. 

Ferdinand. Save him dry scars that ache of winter- 
nights, 

Worn out self-pity and as much of knowledge 

As makes old men fear judgment? Then loose him — loose 
him 

A' God's name loose him to adventure early! 

And trust some random pike, or half-backed horse, 

Besides what's caught in Italy, to save him. 

The King. I know. I know. And yet. . . . What 
stirs in the garden? 

Enter Gow and a Gardener bearing the Prince's body 

Ferdinand. (Gods give me patience!) Gow and a gar- 
dener 
Bearing some load along in the dusk to the dunghill. 
Nay — a dead branch — But as I said, the Prince 

The King. They've laid it down. Strange they should 
work so late. 

Gow {setting down the body). Heark, you unsanctified fool 
while I set out our story. We found it, this side the North 
Park wall which it had climbed to pluck nectarines from the 
alley. Heark again ! There was a nectarine in its hand when 
we found it, and the naughty brick that slipped from the cop- 
ing beneath its foot and so caused its death, lies now under 
the wall for the King to see. 

The King {above). The King to see! Why should he? 
Who's the man? 



686 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Gow. That is your tale. Swerve from it by so much as 
the breadth of my dagger and here's your instant reward. 
You heard not, saw not, and by the Horns of ninefold-cuck- 
olded Jupiter you thought not nor dreamed not anything 
more or other! 

The King. Ninefold-cuckolded Jupiter. That's a rare 
oath! Shall we look closer? 

Ferdinand. Not yet, my Lord! (I cannot hear him 
breathe.) 

Gardener. The North Park wall? It was so. Pluck- 
ing nectarines. It shall be. But how shall I say if any ask 



why our Lady the Queen- 
Go w (stabs him). Thus! Hie after the Prince and tell 
him y'are the first fruits of his nectarine tree. Bleed there 
behind the laurels. 

The King. Why did Gow buffet the clown? What said 
he? I'll go look. 

Ferdinand (above). Save yourself! It is the King! 

Enter' the King and Ferdinand to Gow 
Gow. God save you! This was the Prince! 

The King. The Prince! Not a dead branch? (Un- 
covers the face.) 
My flesh and blood! My son! my son! my son! 

Ferdinand (to Gow). I had feared something of this. 
And that fool yonder? 

Gow. Dead, or as good. He cannot speak. 

Ferdinand. Better so. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 687 

The King. "Loosed to adventure early!" Tell the tale. 

Gow. Saddest truth alack! I came upon him not a half 
hour since, fallen from the North Park wall over against the 
Deerpark side — dead — dead! — a nectarine in his hand that 
the dear lad must have climbed for, and plucked the very 
instant, look you, that a brick slipped on the coping. 'Tis 
there now. So I lifted him, but his neck was as you see — and 
already cold. 

The King. Oh, very cold. But why should he have 
troubled to climb ? He was free of all the fruit in my garden 
God knows! . . . What, Gow? 

Gow. Surely, God knows! 

The King. A lad's trick. But I love him the better 
for it. . . . True, he's past loving. . . . And now 
we must tell our Queen. What a coil at the day's end ! She'll 
grieve for him. Not as I shall, Ferdinand, but as youth for 
youth. They were much of the same age. Playmate for 
playmate. See, he wears her colours. That is the knot she 
gave him last — last. . . . Oh God! When was yester- 
day? 

Ferdinand. Come in! Come in, my Lord. There's a 
dew falling. 

The King. He'll take no harm of it. I'll follow pres- 
ently. . . . 

He's all his mother's now and none of mine — 
Her very face on the bride-pillow. Yet I tricked her. 
But that was later — and she never guessed. 
I do not think he sinned much — he's too young — 
Much the same age as my Queen. God must not judge him 
Too hardly for such slips as youth may fall in. 
But I'll entreat that Throne. 
{Prays by the body.) 



688 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Gow. The Heavens hold up still. Earth opens not and 
this dew's mere water. What shall a man think of it all? (To 
Gardener.) Not dead yet, sirrah? I bade you follow the 
Prince. Despatch! 

Gardener. Some kind soul pluck out the dagger. Why 
did you slay me ? I'd done no wrong. J'd ha' kept it secret 
till my dying day. But not now — not now! I'm dying. 
The Prince fell from the Queen's chamber window. I saw it 
in the nut-alley. He was 

Ferdinand. But what made you in the nut-alley at that 
hour? 

Gardener. No wrong. No more than another man's 
wife. Jocasta of the still-room. She'd kissed me good-night 
too; but that's over with the rest. . . . I've stumbled on 
the Prince's beastly loves, and I pay for all. Let me pass! 

Gow. Count it your fortune, honest man. You would 
have revealed it to your woman at the next meeting. You 
fishmongers are all one feather. (Plucks out the dagger.) 
Go in peace and lay your death to Fortune's door. He's 
sped — thank Fortune! 

Ferdinand. Who knows not Fortune, glutted on easy 
thrones, 

Stealing from feasts as rare to coney-catch 
Privily in the hedgerows for a clown, 
With that same cruel-lustful hand and eye, 
Those nails and wedges, that one hammer and lead, 
And the very gerb of long-stored lightning loosed. 
Yesterday 'gainst some King. 

The King. I have pursued with prayers where my heart 
warns me 
My soul shall overtake — 

Enter the Queen 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 689 

The King. Look not! Wait till I tell you, dearest. . . . 
Air! . . . 

"Loosed to adventure early" 
. . . I go late. (Dies.) 

Gow. So! God hath cut off the Prince in his pleasures. 
Gow, to save the King, hath silenced one poor fool who knew 
how it befell, and, now the King's dead,' needs only that the 
Queen should kill Gow and all's safe for her this side o' the 
Judgment. . . . Senor Ferdinand, the wind's easterly. 
I'm for the road. 

Ferdinand. My horse is at the gate. God speed you. 
Whither? 

Gow. To the Duke, if the Queen does not lay hands on 
me before. However it goes, I charge you bear witness, 
Senor Ferdinand, I served the old King faithfully. To the 
death, Senor Ferdinand — to the death! 



THE WISHING-CAPS 

T IFE'S all getting and giving, 

I've only myself to give. 
What shall I do for a living? 
I've only one life to live. 
End it? I'll not find another. 
Spend it? But how shall I best? 
Sure the wise plan is to live like a man 
And Luck may look after the rest! 
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune! 
Give or hold at your will. 
If I've no care for Fortune 
Fortune must follow me still. 



690 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Bad Luck, she is never a lady 

But the commonest wench on the street, 

Shuffling, shabby and shady, 

Shameless to pass or meet. 

Walk with her once — it's a weakness! 

Talk to her twice — it's a crime! 

Thrust her away when she gives you "good day 

And the besom won't board you next time. 

Largesse! Largesse, Fortune! 

What is Your Ladyship's mood? 

If I've no care for Fortune, 

My Fortune is bound to be good! 

Good Luck she is never a lady 

But the cursedest quean alive! 

Tricksey, wincing and jady, 

Kittle to lead or drive. 

Greet her — she's hailing a stranger! 

Meet her — she's busking to leave. 

Let her alone for a shrew to the bone, 

And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve! 

Largesse! Largesse, Fortune! 

I'll neither follow nor flee. 

If I don't run after Fortune 

Fortune must run after me! 



BY THE HOOF OF THE WILD GOAT 5 

gY THE Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed 
From the cliff where she lay in the Sun 
Fell the Stone 

To the Tarn where the daylight is lost. 
So she fell from the light of the Sun 
And alone! 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 691 

Now the fall was ordained from the first 

With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn, 

But the Stone 

Knows only her life is accursed 

As she sinks from the light of the Sun 

And alone! 



Oh Thou Who has builded the World, 
Oh Thou Who has lighted the Sun, 
Oh Thou Who has darkened the Tarn, 
Judge Thou 

The sin of the Stone that was hurled 
By the goat from the light of the Sun, 
As she sinks in the mire of the Tarn, 
Even now — even now — even now! 



SONG OF THE RED WAR-BOAT 

(a. d. 683) 

gHOVE off from the wharf-edge ! Steady ! 

Watch for a smooth! Give way! 
If she feels the lop already 
She'll stand on her head in the bay. 
It's ebb — it's dusk — it's blowing 
The shoals are a mile of white, 
But (snatch her along!) we're going 
To find our master to-night. 

For we hold that in all disaster 
Of shipwreck , storm , or sword \ 
A Man must stand by his Master 
When once he has fledged his word. 



692 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Raging seas have we rowed in 
But we seldom saw them thus, 
Our master is angry with Odin — 
Odin is angry with us! 
Heavy odds have we taken, 
But never before such odds. 
The Gods know they are forsaken, 
We must risk the wrath of the Gods! 



Over the crest she flies from, 
Into its hollow she drops, 
Cringes and clears her eyes from 
The wind-torn breaker-tops, 
Ere out on the shrieking shoulder 
Of a hill-high surge she drives. 
Meet her! Meet her and hold her! 
Pull for your scoundrel lives! 

The thunders bellow and clamour 
The harm that they mean to do! 
There goes Thor's own Hammer 
Cracking the dark in two! 
Close! But the blow has missed her, 
Here comes the wind of the blow! 
Row or the squall '11 twist her 
Broadside on to it! — Row ! 



Heark 'ee, Thor of the Thunder! 
We are not here for a jest — 
For wager, warfare, or plunder, 
Or to put your power to test. 
This work is none of our wishing — 
We would house at home if we might- 
But our master is wrecked out fishing. 
We go to find him to-night. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 693 

For we hold that in all disaster — 
As the Gods Themselves have said — 
A Man must stand by his Master 
Till one of the two is dead. 

That is our way of thinking, 

Now you can do as you will, 

While we try to save her from sinking, 

And hold her head to it still. 

Bale her and keep her moving, 

Or she'll break her back in the trough. . . , 

Who said the weather's improving, 

Or the swells are taking off? 

Sodden, and chafed and aching, 

Gone in the loins and knees — 

No matter— the day is breaking, 

And there's far less weight to the seas! 

Up mast, and finish baling — 

In oars, and out with the mead — 

The rest will be two-reef sailing. . . . 

That was a night indeed ! 

But we hold that in all disaster 
{And faith, we have found it true !) 
If only you stand by your Master, 
The Gods will stand by you ! 



MINE SWEEPERS 

1 9 1 4- t 8 

J)AWN off the Foreland— the young flood making 

Jumbled and short and steep — 
Black in the hollows and bright where it's breaking— 



694 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Awkward water to sweep. 
"Mines reported in the fairway, 
"Warn all traffic and detain. 
" 'Sent up Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, a*d Golden 
Gain" 

Noon off the Foreland — the first ebb making 

Lumpy and strong in the bight. 
Boom after boom, and the golf-hut shaking 

And the jackdaws wild with fright! 

"Mines located in the fairway, 

"Boats now working up the chain, 
"Sweepers — Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, and Golden 
Gain" 

Dusk off the Foreland — the last light going 

And the traffic crowding through, 
And five damned trawlers with their syreens blowing 

Heading the whole review! 

"Sweep completed in the fairway. 

"No more mines remain. 
"'Sent back Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, and Golden 
Gain." 



MORNING SONG IN THE JUNGLE 

f"\NE moment past our bodies cast 
No shadow on the plain; 
Now clear and black they stride our track, 

And we run home again. 
In morning hush, each rock and bush 

Stands hard, and high, and raw: 
Then give the Call: "Good rest to all 
That keep the Jungle Law /" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 695 

Now horn and pelt our peoples melt 

In covert to abide; 
Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill 

Our Jungle Barons glide. 
Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain, 

That draw the new-yoked plough; 
Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red 

Above the lit talao. 1 

Ho! Get to lair! The sun's ah 1 are 

Behind the breathing grass: 
And creaking through the young bamboo 

The warning whispers pass. 
By day made strange, the woods we range 

With blinking eyes we scan; 
While down the skies the wild duck cries: 

" The Day— the Day to Man /" 

The dew is dried that drenched our hide, 

Or washed about our way; 
And where we drank, the puddled bank 

Is crisping into clay. 
The traitor Dark gives up each mark 

Of stretched or hooded claw; 
Then hear the Call: "Good rest to all 

That keep the Jungle Law /" 



BLUE ROSES 

t> OSES red and roses white 

Plucked I for my love's delight. 
She would none of all my posies — 
Bade me gather her blue roses. 

1 Pond or lake. 



696 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Half the world I wandered through, 
Seeking where such flowers grew 
Half the world unto my quest 
Answered me with laugh and jest. 

Home I came at wintertide, 
But my silly love had died 
Seeking with her latest breath 
Roses from the arms of Death . • 

It may be beyond the grave 
She shall find what she would have. 
Mine was but an idle quest — 
Roses white and red are best! 



A RIPPLE SONG 



o 



NCE a ripple came to land 

In the golden sunset burning- 
Lapped against a maiden's hand, 
By the ford returning. 

Dainty foot and gentle breast — 
Here, across, be glad and rest. 
"Maiden, wait," the ripple saith; 
"Wait awhile, for I a?n Death /" 

"Where my lover calls I go — 

Shame it were to treat him coldly- 

'Twas a fish that circled so, 
Turning over boldly." 

Dainty foot and tender heart, 
Wait the loaded ferry -cart. 
"Wait, ah, wait I" the ripple saith; 
"Maiden, wait, for I am Death /" 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 697 

"When my lover calls I haste — 
Dame Disdain was never wedded !" 

Ripple-ripple round her waist, 
Clear the current eddied. 

Foolish heart and faithful hand, 
Little feet that touched no land. 
Far away the ripple sped, 
Ripple — ripple running red! 



BUTTERFLIES 

XT' YES aloft, over dangerous places, 

The children follow the butterflies, 
And, in the sweat of their upturned faces, 
Slash with a net at the empty skies. 

So it goes they fall amid brambles, 
And sting their toes on the nettle-tops, 
Till, after a thousand scratches and scrambles, 
They wipe their brows and the hunting stops. 

Then to quiet them comes their father 
And stills the riot of pain and grief, 
Saying, "Little ones, go and gather 
Out of my garden a cabbage-leaf. 

"You will find on it whorls and clots of 

Dull grey eggs that, properly fed, 

Turn, by way of the worm, to lots of 

Glorious butterflies raised from the dead." . . . 

"Heaver is beautiful, Earth is ugly" 

The three-dimensioned preacher saith, 

So we must not look where the snail and the slug lie 

For Psyche's birth. . . . And that is our death! 



6<>8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



MY LADY'S LAW 



T*HE Law whereby my lady moves 

Was never Law to me, 
But 'tis enough that she approves 
Whatever Law it be. 



For in that Law, and by that Law, 
My constant course I'll steer; 
Not that I heed or deem it dread r . 
But that she holds it dear. 

Tho' Asia sent for my content 
Her richest argosies, 
Those would I spurn, and bid return, 
If that should give her ease. 

With equal heart I'd watch depart 
Each spiced sail from sight, 
Sans bitterness, desiring less 
Great gear than her delight. 

Though Kings made swift with many a gift 
My proven sword to hire — 
I would not go nor serve 'em so — 
Except at her desire. 

With even mind, I'd put behind 
Adventure and acclaim, 
And clean give o'er, esteeming more 
Her favour than my fame. 

Yet such am I, yea such am I — 
Sore bond and freest f ree, 
The Law that sways my lady's ways 
Js mystery to me! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 699 

THE NURSING SISTER 

{Maternity Hospital) 

f\UR sister sayeth such and such, 

And we must bow to her behests; 
Our sister toileth overmuch, 
Our little maid that.hath no breasts. 

A field untilled, a web unwove, 
A flower withheld from sun or bee, 
An alien in the courts of Love, 
And — teacher unto such as we! 



We love her, but we laugh the while, 

We laugh, but sobs are mixed with laughter.; 

Our sister hath no time to smile, 

She knows not what must follow after. 



Wind of the South, arise and blow, 
From beds of spice thy locks shake free; 
Breathe on her heart that she may know, 
Breathe on her eyes that she may see. 

Alas! we vex her with our mirth, 
And maze her with most tender scorn, 
Who stands beside the gates of Birth, 
Herself a child — a child unborn ! 

Our sister sayeth such and such, 
And we must bow to her behests ; 
Our sister toileth over much y 
Our little maid that hath no breasts. 



7oo RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE LOVE SONG OF HAR DYAL 

A LONE upon the housetops to the North 

I turn and watch the lightning in the sky- 
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North. 
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die. 

Below my feet the still bazar is laid — 
Far, far below the weary camels lie — 
The camels and the captives of thy raid. 
Co??ie back to me, Beloved, or I die ! 

My father's wife is old and harsh with years 
And drudge of all my father's house am I — 
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears. 
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die ! 



A ] 



A DEDICATION 

(To Soldiers Three) 

ND they were stronger hands than mine 
That digged the Ruby from the earth — 
More cunning brains that made it worth 
The large desire of a king, 
And stouter hearts that through the brine 
Went down the perfect Pearl to bring. 

Lo, I have wrought in common clay 
Rude figures of a rough-hewn race, 
Since pearls strew not the market-place 
In this my town of banishment, 
Where with the shifting dust I play, 
And eat the bread of discontent. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 701 

Yet is there life in that I make. 

O thou who knowest, turn and see — 

As thou hast power over me 

So have I power over these, 

Because I wrought them for thy sake. 

And breathed in them mine agonies. 



Small mirth was in the making — now 
I lift the cloth that cloaks the clay, 
And, wearied, at thy feet I lay 
My wares, ere I go forth to sell. 
The long bazar will praise, but thou — 
Heart of mv heart — have I done well? 



MOTHER O' MINE 

TF I were hanged on the highest hill, 
Mother 0' ?nine, mother 0' mine ! 
I know whose love would follow me still. 
Mother 0' mine, mother o y mine ! 



If I were drowned in the deepest sea, 
Mother o 1 mine, mother 0' mine ! 
I know whose tears would come down to me, 
Mother o 1 mine, mother 0' mine ! 



If I were damned of body and soul, 

I know whose prayers would make me whole. 

Mother 0' mine, mother o* mine ! 



7 o2 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE ONLY SON 

CHE dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire 
anew, 

For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great grey paw 
came through. 

The fresh flame comforted the hut and shone on the roof- 
beam, 

And the Only Son lay down again and dreamed that he 
dreamed a dream. 

The last ash fell from the withered log with the click of a fall- 
ing spark, 

And the Only Son woke up again, and called across the 
dark: — 

''Now was I born of womankind and laid in a mother's 
breast? 

For I have dreamed of a shaggy hide whereon I went to rest. 

And was I born of womankind and laid on a father's arm ? 

For I have dreamed of clashing teeth that guarded me fron • 
harm. 

And was I born an Only Son and did I play alone? 

For I have dreamed of comrades twain that bit me to the 
bone. 

And did I break the barley-cake and steep it in the tyre? 

For I have dreamed of a youngling kid new-riven from the 
byre. 

For I have dreamed of a midnight sky and a midnight call tc 
blood 

And red-mouthed shadows racing by, that thrust me from my 
food. 

'Tis an hour yet and an hour yet to the rising of the moon, 

But I can see the black roof-tree as plain as it were noon. 

'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the troop- 
ing blackbuck go; 

But I can hear the little fawn that bleats behind the doe. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 703 

'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the crop 

and the upland meet, 
But I can smell the wet dawn-wind that wakes the sprouting 

wheat. 
Unbar the door, I may not bide, but I must out and see 
If those are wolves that wait outside or my own kin to me!" 



She loosed the bar, she slid the bolt, she opened the door anon, 
And a grey bitch-wolf came out of the dark and fawned on 
the Only Son! 



MOWGLI'S SONG AGAINST PEOPLE 

[ WILL let loose against you the fleet-footed vines — 
I will call in the Jungle to stamp out your lines! 
The roofs shall fade before it, 
The house-beams shall fall, 
And the Karela^ the bitter Karela, 
Shall cover it all! 

In the gates of these your councils my people shall sing, 
In the doors of these your garners the Bat-folk shall cling; 
And the snake shall be your watchman, 

By a hearthstone unswept; 
For the Karela, the bitter Karela, 
Shall fruit where ye slept! 

Ye shall not see my strikers; ye shall hear them and guess; 
By night, before the moon-rise, I will send for my cess, 
And the wolf shall be your herdsman 

By a landmark removed, 
For the Karela, the bitter Karela, 
Shall seed where ye loved! 

X A wild melon. 



7 o 4 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

I will reap your fields before you at the hands of a host; 
Ye shall glean behind my reapers for the bread that is lost; 
And the deer shall be your oxen 

On a headland untilled, 
For the Kare/a> the bitter Kare/a, 
Shall leaf where ye build ! 

I have untied against you the club-footed vines — 
I have sent in the Jungle to swamp out your lines! 
The trees — the trees are on you ! 

The house-beams shall fall, 
And the Karela, the bitter Karela* 
Shall cover you all! 



ROMULUS AND REMUS 

LITTLE did the Wolf-Child care- 
When first he planned his home, 
What city should arise and bear 
The weight and state of Rome. 



O h 



A shiftless, westward-wandering tramp, 

Checked by the Tiber flood, 
He reared a wall around his camp 

Of uninspired mud. 

But when his brother leaped the Wall 
And mocked its height and make, 

He guessed the future of it all 
And slew him for its sake. 

Swift was the blow — swift as the thought 

Which showed him in that hour 
How unbelief may bring to naught 
The early steps of Power. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 705 

Forseeing Time's imperilled hopes 

Of Glory, Grace, and Love — 
All singers, Caesars, artists, Popes — 

Would fail if Remus throve, 

He sent his brother to the Gods, 

And, when the fit was o'er, 
Went on collecting turves and clods 

To build the Wall once more! 



CHAPTER HEADINGS 
The Jungle Books 

*^"OW Chil the Kite brings home the night 

That Mang the Bat sets free — 
The herds are shut in byre and hut 

For loosed till dawn are we. 
This is the hour of pride and power, 

Talon and tush and claw. 
Oh hear the call! — Good hunting all 
That keep the Jungle Law! 

Mowglis Brothers. 

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buf- 
falo's pride. 

Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss 
of his hide. 

If ye find that the bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed 
Sambhur can gore; 

Ye need not stop work to inform us. We knew it ten seasons 
before. 

Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister 
and Brother, 

For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is 
their mother. 



7 o6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his 

earliest kill; 
But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him 

think and be still. 

Rao's Hunting, 

The stream is shrunk — the pool is dry, 
And we be comrades, thou and I; 
With fevered jowl and dusty flank 
Each jostling each along the bank; 
And, by one drouthy fear made still, 
Foregoing thought of quest or kill. 
Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see, 
The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he, 
And the tall buck, unflinching, note 
The fangs that tore his father's throat. 
The pools are shrunk — the streams are dry y 
And we be playmates ', thou and I, 
Till yonder cloud — Good Hunting! — loose 
The rain that breaks our Water Truce. 

How Fear Came. 

What of the hunting, hunter bold? 

Brother, the watch was long and cold. 
What of the quarry ye went to kill? 

Brother y he crops in the jungle still. 
Where is the power that made your pride? 

Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side. 
Where is the haste that ye hurry by? 

Brother ', I go to my lair to die! 

"Tiger-Tiger!" 

Veil them, cover them, wall them round — 
Blossom, and creeper, and weed — 

Let us forget the sight and the sound, 
The smell and the touch of the breed! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 707 

Fat black ash by the altar-stone, 

Here is the white-foot rain, 
And the does bring forth in the fields unsown, 

And none shall affright them again; 
And the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown, 

And none shall inhabit again! 

Letting in the Jungle. 



These are the Four that are never content, that have never 

been filled since the Dews began — 
Jacala's mouth, and the glut of the Kite, and the hands of 

the Ape, and the Eyes of Man. 

The King's Ankus. 



For our white and our excellent nights — for the nights of 
swift running, 
Fair ranging, far-seeing, good hunting, sure cunning! 
For the smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has de- 
parted! 
For the rush through the mist, and the quarry blind-started! 
For the cry of our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and 
is standing at bay! 

For the risk and the riot of night! 
For the sleep at the lair-mouth by day! 
It is met, and we go to the fight. 
Bay! O bay! 

Red Dog. 



Man goes to Man! Cry the challenge through the Jungle! 

He that was our Brother goes away. 
Hear, now. and judge, O ye People of the Jungle, — 

Answer, who can turn him — who shall stay? 



7 o8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Man goes to Man ! Fie is weeping in the Jungle: 

He that was our Brother sorrows sore ! 
Man goes to Man ! (Oh, we loved him in the Jungle !) 

To the Man-Trail where we may not follow more. 

The Spring Running. 

At the hole where he went in 
Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin. 
Hear what little Red-Eye saith: 
"Nag, come up and dance with death!" 

Eye to eye and head to head, 

{Keep the ?neasure, Nag.) 
This shall end when one is dead; 

{At thy pleasure, Nag.) 

Turn for turn and twist for twist — 

{Run and hide thee, Nag.) 
Hah! The hooded Death has missed! 

{Woe betide thee, Na^ I) 

"Rikki-Tikki-Tavi." 

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, 

And black are the waters that sparkled so green. 
The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us 

At rest in the hollows that rustle between. 
Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow; 

Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! 
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, 

Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas. 

The White Seal. 

You mustn't swim till you're six weeks old, 
Or your head will be sunk by your heels; 

And summer gales and Killer Whales 
Are bad for baby seals. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 709 

Are bad for baby seals, dear rat, 

As bad as bad can be; 
But splash and grow strong, 
And you can't be wrong, 

Child of the Open Sea! 

The White Seal. 



I will remember what I was, I am sick of rope and chain — 
I will remember my old strength and all my forest-affairs. 

I will not sell my back to man for a bundle of sugar-cane. 
I will go out to my own kind, and the wood-folk in their 
lairs. 



I will go out until the day, until the morning break, 

Out to the winds' untainted kiss, the waters' clean caress. 

1 will forget my ankle-ring and snap my picket-stake. 
I will revisit my lost loves, and playmates masterless! 

Toomai of the Elephants. 

The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the 

snow — 
They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men 

The People of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight; 
They sell their furs to the trading-post; they sell their souls 

to the white. 
The People of the Southern Ice, they trade with the whaler's 

crew; 
Their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn 

and few. 
But the People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's 

ken — 
Their spears are made of the narwhal-horn, and they are the 

last of the Men ! 

tyuiquern. 



7 io RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When ye say to Tabaqui, "My Brother!" when ye call the 

Hyena to meat, 
Ye may cry the Full Truce with Jacala — the Belly that runs 

on four feet. 

The Undertakers. 



The night we felt the earth would move 
We stole and plucked him by the hand, 

Because we loved him with the love 
That knows but cannot understand. 

And when the roaring hillside broke, 
And all our world fell down in rain, 

We saved him, we the Little Folk; 
But lo! he does not come again! 

Mourn now, we saved him for the sake 
Of such poor love as wild ones may. 

Mourn ye ! Our brother will not wake, 
And his own kind drive us away! 

The Miracle of Purun BhagaL 



THE EGG-SHELL 

HPHE wind took off with the sunset — 

The fog came up with the tide, 
When the Witch of the North took an Egg-shell 
With a little Blue Devil inside. 
"Sink," she said, "or swim," she said, 
" It's all you will get from me. 
And that is the finish of him!" she said, 
And the Egg-shell went to sea. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 711 

The wind fell dead with the midnight — 

The fog shut down like a sheet, 

When the Witch of the North heard the Egg-shell 

Feeling by hand for a fleet. 

"Get!" she said, "or you're gone," she said, 

But the little Blue Devil said "No!" 

"The sights are just coming on," he said, 

And he let the Whitehead go. 

The wind got up with the morning — - 

The fog blew oft with the rain, 

When the Witch of the North saw the Egg-shell 

And the little Blue Devil again. 

" Did you swim ? " she said. " Did you sink ? " she said 5 

And the little Blue Devil replied: 

"For myself I swam, but I think," he said, 

"There's somebody sinking outside." 



"THE TRADE" 

1 9 1 4- 1 9 1 8 

THEY bear, in place of classic names, 
Letters and numbers on their skin. 
They play their grisly blindfold games 

In little boxes made of tin. 

Sometimes they stalk the Zeppelin, 
Sometimes they learn where mines are laid 

Or where the Baltic ice is thin. 
That is the custom of "The Trade." 

Few prize-courts sit upon their claims. 

They seldom tow their targets in. 
They follow certain secret aims 

Down under, far from strife or din. 



712 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

When they are ready to begin 
No flag is flown, no fuss is made 

More than the shearing of a pin. 
That is the custom of "The Trade." 

The Scout's quadruple funnel flames 

A mark from Sweden to the Swin, 
The Cruiser's thundrous screw proclaims 

Her comings out and goings in: 

But only whiffs of paraffin 
Or creamy rings that fizz and fade 

Show where the one-eyed Death has been. 
That is the custom of "The Trade." 

Their feats, their fortunes and their fames 
Are hidden from their nearest kin; 

No eager public backs or blames, 

No journal prints the yarns they spin 
(The Censor would not let it in!) 

When they return from run or raid. 
Unheard they work, unseen they win. 

That is the custom of "The Trade." 



THE KING'S TASK 

1902 

A FTER the sack of the City when Rome was sunk to a 

name 
In the years that the lights were darkened, or ever St. Wilfrid 

came 
Low on the borders of Britain (the ancient poets sing) 
Between the Cliff and the Forest there ruled a Saxon King. 
Stubborn all were his people from cottar to overlord — 
Not to be cowed by the cudgel, scarce to be schooled by the 

sword j 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 713 

Quick to turn at their pleasure, cruel to cross in their mood, 

And set on paths of their choosing as the hogs of Andred's 
Wood. 

Laws they made in the Witan — the laws of flaying and fine — 

Common, loppage and pannage, the theft and the track of 
kine — 

Statutes of tun and of market for the fish and the malt and 
the meal — - 

The tax on the Bramber packhorse and the tax on the Hast- 
ings keel. 

Over the graves of the Druids and under the wreck of Rome 

Rudely but surely they bedded the plinth of the days to come. 

Behind the feet of the Legions and before the Norseman's ire 

Rudely but greatly begat they the framing of State and Shire. 

Rudely but deeply they laboured, and their labour stands till 
now, 

If we trace on our ancient headlands the twist of their eight- 
ox pic ugh. . . . 

There came a king from Hamtun, by Bosenham he came, 

He filled Use with slaughter, and Lewes he gave to flame. 

He smote while they sat in the Witan — sudden he smote and 
sore, 

That his fleet was gathered at Selsea ere they mustered at 
Cymen's Ore. 

Blithe went the Saxons to battle, by down and wood and 
mere, 

But thrice the acorns ripened ere the western mark was clear. 

Thrice was the beechmast gathered, and the Beltane fires 
burned 

Thrice, and the beeves were salted thrice ere the host returned 

They drove that king from Hamtun, by Bosenham o'er- 
thrown, 

Out of Rugnor to Wilton they made his land their own. 

Camps they builded at Gilling, at Basing and Alresford, 

But wrath abode in the Saxons from cottar to overlord. 

Wrath at the weary war-game, at the foe that snapped and 
ran 



714 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Wolf-wise feigning and flying, and wolf-wise snatching his 

man. 
Wrath for their spears unready, their levies new to the 

blades — 
Shame for the helpless sieges and the scornful ambuscades. 
At hearth and tavern and market, wherever the tale was 

told, 
Shame and wrath had the Saxons because of their boasts of old. 
And some would drink and deny it, and some would pray and 

atone; 
But the most part, after their anger, avouched that the sin 

was their own. 
Wherefore, girding together, up to the Witan they came, 
And as they had shouldered their bucklers so did they shoul- 
der their blame. 
For that was the wont of the Saxons (the ancient poets sing), 
And first they spoke in the Witan and then they spoke to the 

King: 
"Edward King of the Saxons, thou knowest from sire to son, 
"One is the King and his People — in gain and ungain one. 
"Count we the gain together. With doubtings and spread 

dismays 
"We have broken a foolish people — but after many days. 
"Count we the loss together. Warlocks hampered our arms 
"We were tricked as by magic, we were turned as by charms. 
"We went down to the battle and the road was plain to keep 
"But our angry eyes were holden, and we struck as they 

strike in sleep — 
"Men new shaken from slumber, sweating, with eyes a-stare 
"Little blows and uncertain dealt on the useless air. 
"Also a vision betrayed us and a lying tale made bold 
"That we looked to hold what we had not and to have what 

we did not hold: 
"That a shield should give us shelter — that a sword should 

give us power — 
"A shield snatched up at a venture and a hilt scarce handled 

an hour: 






INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 715 

"That being rich in the open, we should be strong in the 

close — 
"And the Gods would sell us a cunning for the day that we 

met our foes. 
"This was the work of wizards, but not with our foe they 

bide, 
"In our own camp we took them, and their names are Sloth 

and Pride. 
"Our pride was before the battle: our sloth ere we lifted 

spear, 
"But hid in the heart of the people as the fever hides in the 

mere, 
"Waiting only the war-game, the heat of the strife to rise 
"i\.s the ague fumes round Oxeney when the rotting reed-bed 

dries. 
"But now we are purged of that fever — cleansed by the 

letting of blood, 
"Something leaner of body — something keener of mood. 
"And the men new-freed from the levies return to the fields 

again, 
" Matching a hundred battles, cottar and lord and thane. 
"And they talk loud in the temples where the ancient war- 
gods are. 
"They thumb and mock and belittle the holy harness of 

war. 
"They jest at the sacred chariots, the robes and the gilded 

staff. 
"These things fill them with laughter, they lean on their 

spears and laugh. 
"The men grown old in the war-game, hither and thither they 

range — 
"And scorn and laughter together are sire and dam of 

change; 
"And change may be good or evil — but we know not what it 

will bring 
"Therefore our King must teach us. That is thy task, O 

King!" 



7 i6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

POSEIDON'S LAW 

\\/HEN the robust and Brass-bound Man commissioned 

first for sea 
His fragile raft, Poseidon laughed, and "Mariner," said he, 
"Behold, a Law immutable I lay on thee and thine, 
That never shall ye act or tell a falsehood at my shrine. 

"Let Zeus adjudge your landward kin whose votive meal and 

salt 
At easy-cheated altars win oblivion for the fault, 
But you the unhoodwinked wave shall test — the immediate 

gulf condemn — 
Except ye owe the Fates a jest, be slow to jest with them. 

"Ye shall not clear by Greekly speech, nor cozen from your 
path 

The twinkling shoal, the leeward beach, or Hadria's white- 
lipped wrath; 

Nor tempt with painted cloth for wood my fraud-avenging 
hosts; 

Nor make at all, or all make good, your bulwarks and your 
boasts. 

"Now and henceforward serve unshoe], through wet and 

wakeful shifts, 
A present and oppressive God, but take, to aid, my gifts — 
The wide and windward-opening eye, the large and lavish 

hand, 
The soul that cannot tell a lie — except upon the land!" 

In dromond and in catafract — wet, wakeful, windward- 
eyed — 
He kept Poseidon's Law intact (his ship and freight beside), 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 717 

But, once discharged the dromond's hold, the bireme beached 

once more, 
Splendaciously mendacious rolled the Brass-bound Man 

ashore. 

The thranite now and thalamite are pressures low and high, 
And where three hundred blades bit white the twir> -propellers 

ply. 
The God that hailed, the keel that sailed, are changed beyond 

recall, 
But the robust and Brass-bound Man he is not changed at all! 

From Punt returned, from Phormio's Fleet, from Javan and 

Gadire, 
He strongly occupies the seat about the tavern fire, 
And, moist with much Falernian or smoked Massilian juice, 
Revenges there the Brass-bound Man his long-enforced truce! 



THE LOWESTOFT BOAT 

{East Coast Patrols) 
I 9 1 4 - I 8 

JN LOWESTOFT a boat was laid, 

Mark well what I do say! 
And she was built for the herring trade, 

But she has gone a-rovin', a-rovin', a-rovin', 

The Lord knows where! 

They gave her Government coal to burn, 
And a Q. F. gun at bow and stern, 
And sent her out a-rovin', etc. 

Her skipper was mate of a bucko ship 
Which always killed one man per trip, 
So he is used to rovin', etc. 



>i8 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Her mate was skipper of a chapel in Wales, 
And so he fights in topper and tails — 
Religi-ous tho' rovin', etc. 

Her engineer is fifty-eight, 

So he's prepared to meet his fate, 

Which ain't unlikely rovin', etc. 

Her leading-stoker's seventeen, 

So he don't know what the Judgments mean 5 

Unless he cops 'em rovin', etc. 

Her cook was chef in the Lost Dogs' Home, 

Mark well what I do say! 
And I'm sorry for Fritz when they all come 

A-rovin', a-rovin', a-roarin' and a-rovin', 

Round the North Sea rovin', 

The Lord knows where! 



A TRUTHFUL SONG 

pHE Bricklayer: 

I tell this tale, which is strictly true, 
Just by way of convincing you 
How very little, since things were made, 
Things have altered in the building trade. 

A year ago, come the middle of March, 
We was building flats near the Marble Arch, 
When a thin young man with coal-black hair 
Came up to watch us working there. 

Now there wasn't a trick in brick or stone 
Which this young man hadn't seen or known; 
Nor there wasn't a tool from trowel to maul 
But this young man could use 'em all! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 719 

Then up and spoke the plumbyers bold, 

Which was laying the pipes for the hot and cold; 

"Since you with us have made so free, 

Will you kindly say what your name might be?" 

The young man kindly answered them; 
"It might be Lot or Methusalem, 
Or it might be Moses (a man I hate) 
Whereas it is Pharaoh surnamed the Great. 

"Your glazing is new and your plumbing's strange, 

But otherwise I perceive no change; 

And in less than a month if you do as I bid 

I'd learn you to build me a Pyramid!" 

The Sailor: 
/ tell this tale, which is stricter true, 
Just by way of convincing you 
How very little, since things was made, 
Things have altered in the shipwright 's trade. 

In Blackwall Basin yesterday 

A China barque re-fitting lay; 

When a fat old man with snow-white hair 

Came up to watch us working there. 

Now there wasn't a knot which the riggers knew 
But the old man made it — and better too; 
Nor there wasn't a sheet, or a lift, or a brace, 
But the old man knew its lead and place. 

Then up and spoke the caulkyers bold, 
Which was packing the pump in the afterhold: 
"Since you with us have made so free, 
Will you kindly tell what your name might be?" 



7 2o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

The old man kindly answered them: 

"It might be Japheth, it might be Shem, 

Or it might be Ham (though his skin was dark). 

Whereas it is Noah, commanding the Ark. 

"Your wheel is new and your pumps are strange 
But otherwise I perceive no change; 
And in less than a week, if she did not ground, 
I'd sail this hooker the wide world round!" 

Both: 

We tell these tales , which are strictest true, 
Just by way of convincing you 
How very little, since things was made, 
Anything alters in any one's trade ! 



A SMUGGLER'S SONG 

IF YOU wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, 

Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street 
Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie. 
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! 

Five and twenty ponies, 

Trotting through the dark — 

Brandy for the Parson, 

'Baccy for the Clerk; 

Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, 
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! 

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find 
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine, 
Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play. 
Put the brishwood back again — and they'll be gone next day ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 721 

If you see the stable-door setting open wide; 

If you see a tired horse lying down inside; 

If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; 

If the lining's wet and warm — don't you ask no more! 

If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red, 

You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said. 

If they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the 

chin, 
Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been! 

Knocks and footsteps round the house — whistles after dark — 
You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark. 
Trusty's here, and Pinchers here, and see how dumb they 

lie— 
They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by! 

If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance, ■ 
You'll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France, 
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood — 
A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good! 

Five and twenty ponies, 

Trotting through the dark — 

Brandy for the Parson, 

'Baccy for the Clerk. 
Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie — 
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! 



KING HENRY VII AND THE SHIPWRIGHTS 

(a. d. 1487) 

X-IARRY, our King in England, from London town is 

gone, 
And comen to Hamuli on the Hoke in the Countie of Suth- 

ampton. 



722 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

For there lay the Mary of the Tower , his ship of war so strong, 
And he would discover, certaynely, if his shipwrights did him 
wrong. 

He told not none of his setting forth, nor yet where he would 

(But only my Lord of Arundel) and meanly did he show, 
In an old jerkin and patched hose that no man might him 

mark. 
With his frieze hood and cloak above, he looked like any clerk. 

He was at Hamuli on the Hoke about the hour of the tidej 
And saw the Mary haled into dock, the winter to abide, 
With all her tackle and habilaments which are the King his 

own; 
But then ran on his false shipwrights and stripped her to the 

bone. 

They heaved the main-mast overboard, that was of a trusty 

tree, 
And they wrote down it was spent and lost by force of weather 

at sea. 
But they sawen it into planks and strakes as far as it might go, 
To maken beds for their own wives and little children also. 

There was a knave called Slingawai, he crope beneath the 

deck, 
Crying: "Good felawes, come and see! The ship is nigh a 

wreck! 
For the storm that took our tall main-mast, it blew so fierce 

and fell, 
Alack! it hath taken the kettles and pans, and this brass pott 

as well!" 

With that he set the pott on his head and hied him up the 

hatch, 
While all the shipwrights ran below to find what they might 

snatch; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 723 

All except Bob Brygandyne and he was a yeoman good, 
He caught Slingawai round the waist and threw him on to the 
mud. 



"I have taken plank and rope and nail, without the King his 

leave, 
After the custom of Portesmouth, but I will not suffer a thief. 
Nay, never lift up thy hand at me — there's no clean hands 

in the trade. 
Steal in measure," quo* Brygandyne. "There's measure in 

all things made!" 

"Gramercy, yeoman!" said our King. "Thy council liketh 

me." 
And he pulled a whistle out of his neck and whistled whistles 

three. 
Then came my Lord of Arundel pricking across the down, 
And behind him the Mayor and Burgesses of merry Suthamp- 

ton town. 

They drew the naughty shipwrights up, with the kettles in 

their hands, 
And bound them round the forecastle to wait the King's 

commands. 
But "Sith ye have made your beds," said the King, "ye 

needs must lie thereon. 
For the sake of your wives and little ones — felawes, get you 

gone!" 

When they had beaten Slingawai, out of his own lips 

Our King appointed Brygandyne to be Clerk of all his ships. 

"Nay, never lift up thy hands to me — there's no clean hands 

in the trade. 
But steal in measure," said Harry our King. "There's 

measure in all things made!" 



724 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

God speed the Mary of the Tower, the Sovereign, and Grace 

Dieu, 
The Sweepstakes and the Mary Fortune, and the Henrv 

of Bristol too ! 
All tall ships that sail on the sea, or in our harbours stand, 
That they may keep measure with Harry our King and peace in 

Engeland ! 



THE WET LITANY 

\/\/ r HEN the water's countenance 

Blurrs 'twixt glance and second glance; 
Then our tattered smokes forerun 
Ashen 'neath a silvered sun; 
When the curtain of the haze 
Shuts upon our helpless ways — 

Hear the Channel Fleet at sea: 

Libera nos Domine ! 



When the engines' bated pulse 
Scarcely thrills the nosing hulls; 
When the wash along the side 
Sounds, a-sudden, magnified; 
When the intolerable blast 
Marks each blindfold minute passed; 

When the fog-buoy's squattering flight 
Guides us through the haggard night; 
When the warning bugle blows; 
When the lettered doorways close; 
When our brittle townships press, 
Impotent, on emptiness; 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 725 

When the unseen leadsmen lean 
Questioning a deep unseen; 
When their lessened count they tell 
To a bridge invisible; 
When the hid and perilous 
Cliffs return our cry to us; 

When the treble thickness spread 
Swallows up our next-ahead; 
When her siren's frightened whine 
Shows her sheering out of line; 
When — her passage undiscerned — 
We must turn where she has turned, 

Hear the Channel Fleet at sea: 

Libera nos Domine ! 



THE BALLAD OF MINEPIT SHAW 

A BOUT the time that taverns shut 

And men can buy no beer, 
Two lads went up to the keepers' hut 
To steal Lord Pelham's deer. 

Night and the liquor was in their heads — 
They laughed and talked no bounds, 

Till they waked the keepers on their beds 
And the keepers loosed the hounds. 

They had killed a hart, they had killed a hind, 

Ready to carry away, 
When they heard a whimper down the wind 

And they heard a bloodhound bay. 



726 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They took and ran across the fern, 
Their crossbows in their hand, 

Till they met a man with a green lantern 
That called and bade 'em stand. 



"What are ye doing, O Flesh and Blood, 

And what's your foolish will, 
That you must break into Minepit Wood 

And wake the Folk of the Hill?" 

"Oh, we've broke into Lord Pelham's park, 
And killed Lord Pelham's deer, 

And if ever you heard a little dog bark 
You'll know why we come here. 

"We ask you let us go our way, 

As fast as we can flee, 
For if ever you heard a bloodhound bay 

You'll know how pressed we be." 

"Oh, lay your crossbows on the bank 
And drop the knife from your hand, 

And though the hounds are at your flank 
I'll save you where you stand!" 

They laid their crossbows on the bank, 
They threw their knives in the wood, 

And the ground before them opened and sank 
And saved 'em where they stood. 



"Oh, what's the roaring in our ears 
That strikes us well-nigh dumb?" 

"Oh, that is just how things appears 
According as they come." 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 727 

" What are the stars before our eyes 

That strike us well-nigh blind?" 
"Oh, that is just how things arise 

According as you find." 

"And why's our bed so hard to the bones 

Excepting where it's cold?" 
"Oh, that's because it is precious stones 

Excepting where 'tis gold. 

"Think it over as you stand, 

For I tell you without fail, 
If you haven't got into Fairyland 

You're not in Lewes Gaol." 

All night long they thought of it, 

And, come the dawn, they saw 
They'd tumbled into a great old pit, 

At the bottom of Minepit Shaw. 

And the keeper's hound had followed 'em close, 

And broke her neck in the fall; 
So they picked up their knives and their crossbows 

And buried the dog. That's all. 

But whether the man was a poacher too 

Or a Pharisee 1 so bold — 
I reckon there's more things told than are true, 

And more things true than are told! 



W ] 



HERIOTS FORD 

HAT'S that that hirples at my side?" 
The foe that you must fight, my lord. 
"That rides as fast as I can ride?" 
The shadow of your might, my lord. 
'A fairv. 



728 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"Then wheel my horse against the foe!" 
He's down and overpast ; my lord. 
You war against the sunset-glow, 
The judgment follows fast, my lord I 

"Oh who will stay the sun's descent?" 
King Joshua he is dead, my lord. 
"I need an hour to repent!" 
'Tis what our sister said, my lord. 

"Oh do not slay me in my sins!" 
You re safe awhile with us, my lord. 
"Nay, kill me ere my fear begins!" 
We would not serve you thus, my lord. 



"Where is the doom that I must face?" 
Three little leagues away, my lord. 
"Then mend the horses' laggard pace!" 
We need them for next day, my lord. 

"Next day — next day! Unloose my cords!" 
Our sister needed none, my lord. 
You had no mind to face our swords, 
And — where can cowards run, my lord ? 

"You would not kill the soul alive?" 
' Twas thus our sister cried, my lord. 
"I dare not die with none to shrive." 
But so our sister died, my lord. 

"Then wipe the sweat from brow and cheek." 
// runnels forth afresh, my lord. 
"Uphold me — for the flesh is weak." 
You 've finished with the Flesh, my lord I 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 729 



FRANKIE'S TRADE 

(~\LD Horn to All Atlantic said: 
W {A-hay ! To me !) 
"Now where did Frankie learn his trade? 
For he ran me down with a three-reef mains'le. 
{All round the Horn /) 

Atlantic answered: — "Not from me! 
You'd better ask the cold North Sea, 
For he ran me down under all plain canvas." 
{All round the Horn /) 

The North Sea answered: — "He's my man, 
For he came to me when he began — 
Frankie Drake in an open coaster. 
{All round the Sands /) 



"I caught him young and I used him sore, 
So you never shall startle Frankie more, 
Without capsizing Earth and her waters. 
{All round the Sands /) 



"I did not favour him at all. 
I made him pull and I made him haul — 
And stand his trick with the common sailors. 
{All round the Sands /) 



"I froze him stiff and I fogged him blind, 
And kicked him home with his road to find 
By what he could see in a three-day snow-storm, 
{All round the Sands /) 



730 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"I learned him his trade o' winter nights, 

'Twixt Mardyk Fort and Dunkirk lights 

On a five-knot tide with the forts a-firing. 

{All round the Sands /) 

"Before his beard began to shoot, 
I showed him the length of the Spaniard's foot — 
And I reckon he clapped the boot on it later. 
{All round the Sands !) 

"If there's a risk which you can make, 
That's worse than he was used to take 
Nigh every week in the way of his business; 
{All round the Sands !) 

"If there's a trick that you can try, 
Which he hasn't met in time gone by, 
Not once or twice, but ten times over; 
{All round the Sands !) 

"If you can teach him aught that's new, 

{A-hay ! To me /) 
I'll give you Bruges and Niewport too, 
And the ten tall churches that stand between 'em'.' 

Storjn along my gallant Captains ! 

{All round the Horn !) 



THE JUGGLER'S SONG 

\\f HEN the drums begin to beat 

Down the street, 
When the poles are fetched and guyed, 
When the tight-rope's stretched and tied, 
When the dance-girls make salaam, 
When the snake-bag wakes alarm, 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 731 

When the pipes set up their drone, 
When the sharp-edged knives are thrown, 
When the red-hot coals are shown, 
To be swallowed by-and-by — 
Arre^ Brethren, here come I! 

Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun, 
Search me well and watch me close! 
Tell me how my tricks are done — 
Tell me how the mango grows ? 

Give a man who is not made 

To his trade 

Swords to fling and catch again, 

Coins to ring and snatch again, 

Men to harm and cure again, 

Snakes to charm and lure again — 

He'll be hurt by his own blade, 

By his serpents disobeyed, 

By his clumsiness bewrayed, 

By the people laughed to scorn — 

So 'tis not with juggler born! 

Pinch of dust or withered flower, 
Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff, 
Serve his need and shore his power, 
Bind the spell or loose the laugh! 



THE NORTH SEA PATROL 

1 9 1 4- 1 8 

\A^HERE the East wind is brewed fresh and fresh every 

morning, 
And the balmy night-breezes blow straight from the Pole, 
I heard a Destroyer sing: "What an enjoyable life does one 

lead on the North Sea Patrol ! 



732 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"To blow things to bits is our business (and Fritz's), 
Which means there are mine-fields wherever you stroll. 

Unless you've particular wish to die quick, you'll a- 
void steering close to the North Sea Patrol. 

"We warn from disaster the mercantile master 
Who takes in high Dudgeon our life-saving role, 

For every one's grousing at Docking and Dowsing 1 
The marks and the lights on the North Sea Patrol." 

[Twelve verses omitted.] 

So swept but surviving, half drowned but still driving, 
I watched her head out through the swell off the shoal, 
And I heard her propellers roar: "Write to poor fellers 
Who run such a Hell as the North Sea Patrol !" 



THORKILD'S SONG 

'T^HERE'S no wind along these seas, 

Out oars for Stavanger ! 
Forward all for Stavanger ! 
So we must wake the white-ash breeze, 
Let fall for Stavanger ! 
A long pull for Stavanger ! 

Oh, hear the benches creak and strain ! 
(A long pull for Stavanger /) 
She thinks she smells the Northland rain! 
{A long pull for Stavanger /) 

She thinks she smells the Northland snow, 
And she's as glad as we to go. 

1 Shoals and lights on the East Coast. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 733 

She thinks she smells the Northland rime, 
And the dear dark nights of winter-time. 

She wants to be at her own home pier, 
To shift her sails and standing gear. 

She wants to be in her winter-shed, 
To strip herself and go to bed. 

Her very bolts are sick for shore, 
And we — we want it ten times more! 



So all you Gods that love brave men, 
Send us a three-reef gale again ! 

Send us a gale, and watch us come, 
With close-cropped canvas slashing home! 

But — there's no wind on all these seas, 
A long pull for Stavanger ! 
So we must wake the white-ash breeze, 
A long pull for Stavanger I 



"ANGUTIVAUN TAINA" 

Song of the Returning Hunter {Esquimaux). 

/~\UR gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, 

Our furs with the drifted snow, 
As we come in with the seal — the seal! 
In from the edge of the floe. 



734 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Au jana ! Aua ! Oha ! Haq ! 

And the yelping dog-teams go, 
And the long whips crack, and the men come back, 

Back from the edge of the floe ! 

We tracked our seal to his secret place, 

We heard him scratch below, 
We made our mark, and we watched beside, 

Out on the edge of the floe. 

We raised our lance when he rose to breathe, 

We drove it downward — so! 
And we played him thus, and we killed him thus, 

Out on the edge of the floe. 

Our gloves are glued with the frozen blood, 

Our eyes with the drifting snow; 
But we come back to our wives again, 

Back from the edge of the floe! 

Au jana I Aua ! Oha ! Haq! 

And the loaded dog-teams go, 
And the wives can hear their men come back, 

Back from the edge of the floe ! 



HUNTING-SONG OF THE SEEONEE PACK 

AS THE dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled — 

Once, twice and again! 
And a doe leaped up, and a doe leaped up 
From the pond in the wood where the wild deer sup. 
This I, scouting alone, beheld, 
Once, twice and again! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 ' 735 

As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled — 

Once, twice and again! 
And a wolf stole back, and a wolf stole back 
To carry the word to the waiting pack, 
And we sought and we found and we bayed on his track 

Once, twice and again! 



As the dawn was breaking the Wolf Pack yelled 

Once, twice and again! 
Feet in the jungle that leave no mark! 
Eyes that can see in the dark — the dark! 
Tongue — give tongue to it! Hark! O Hark! 

Once, twice and again! 



SONG OF THE MEN'S SIDE 

[Neolithic) 

f\NCE we feared The Beast — when he followed us we ran, 

Ran very fast though we knew 
It was not right that The Beast should master Man; 

But what could we Flint-workers do? 
The Beast only grinned at our spears round his ears — 

Grinned at the hammers that we made; 
But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife — 

And this is the Buyer of the Blade! 



Room for his shadow on the grass — let it pass ! 

To left and right — stand clear I 
This is the Buyer of the Blade — be afraid ) 

This is the great god Tyr 1 



736 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan, 

For he knew it was not right 
(And it is not right) that The Beast should master Man; 

So he went to the Children of the Night. 
He begged a Magic Knife of their make for our sake. 

When he begged for the Knife they said: 
"The price of the Knife you would buy is an eye!" 

And that was the price he paid. 



Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead — run ahead I 
Shout it so the Women s Side can hear I 

This is the Buyer of the Blade — be afraid I 
This is the great god Tyr ! 



Our women and our little ones may walk on the Chalk, 

As far as we can see them and beyond. 
We shall not be anxious for our sheep when we keep 

Tally at the shearing-pond. 
We can eat with both our elbows on our knees, if we please 

We can sleep after meals in the sun, 
For Shepherd of the Twilight is dismayed at the Blade, 

Feet-in-the-Night have run! 
Dog-without-a-Master goes away (Hai, Tyr, aie!), 

Devil-in-the-Dusk has run! 



Then : 

Room for his shadow on the grass — let it pass ! 

To left and right — stand clear I 
This is the Buyer of the Blade — be afrcid ! 
This is the great god Tyr ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 737 

DARZEE'S CHAUNT 

(Sung in honour of Rikki-tikki-tavi) 

gINGER and tailor am I— 

Doubled the joys that I know — 
Proud of my lilt to the sky, 

Proud of the house that I sew — 
Over and under, so weave I my music — so weave I the house 
that I sew. 



Sing to your fledglings again, 

Mother, O lift up your head ! 
Evil that plagued us is slain, 
Death in the garden lies dead. 
Terror that hid in the roses is impotent — flung on the dung- 
hill and dead! 



Who hath delivered us, who? 

Tell me his nest and his name. 
Rikki, the valiant, the true, 
Tikki, with eyeballs of flame, 
Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the Hunter with eyeballs of 
flame. 



Give him the Thanks of the Birds, 
Bowing with tail-feathers spread! 
Praise him in nightingale-words — 
Nay, I will praise him instead. 
Hear! I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, 
with eyeballs of red ! 

{Here Rikki-tikki interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.) 



738 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



THE FOUR ANGELS 

AS ADAM lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree 

The Angel of the Earth came down, and offered Earth in 
fee. 

But Adam did not need it, 
Nor the plough he would not speed it, 
Singing: — "Earth and Water, Air and Fire, 
What more can mortal man desire?" 
(The Apple Tree's in bud.) 

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree 
The Angel of the Waters offered all the Seas in fee. 
But Adam would not take 'em, 
Nor the ships he wouldn't make 'em, 
Singing: — "Water, Earth and Air and Fire, 
What more can mortal man desire?" 
(The Apple Tree's in leaf.) 

j 

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree 
The Angel of the Air he offered all the Air in fee. 
But Adam did not crave it, 
Nor the flight he wouldn't brave it, 
Singing: — "Air and Water, Earth and Fire, 
What more can mortal man desire?" 
(The Apple Tree's in bloom.) 

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree, 
The Angel of the Fire rose up and not a word said he, 
But he wished a flame and made it, 
And in Adam's heart he laid it, 
Singing: — "Fire, Fire, burning Fire! 

Stand up and reach your heart's desire!" 
(The Apple Blossom's set.) 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 739 

As Adam was a-working outside of Eden-Wall, 
He used the Earth, he used the Seas, he used the Air and all; 
Till out of black disaster 
He arose to be the master 

Of Earth and Water, Air and Fire, 
But never reached his heart's desire! 
(The Apple Tree's cut down !) 



THE BEGINNINGS 

i 9 i 4- i 8 



I 



T WAS not part of their blood, 
It came to them very late 
With long arrears to make good, 
When the English began to hate. 



They were not easily moved, 
They were icy-willing to wait 

Till every count should be proved, 
Ere the English began to hate. 



Their voices were even and low, 
Their eyes were level and straight. 

There was neither sign nor show, 
When the English began to hate. 



It was not preached to the crowd, 
It was not taught by the State. 

No man spoke it aloud, 

W 7 hen the English began to hate. 



740 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It was not suddenly bred, 
It will not swiftly abate, 

Through the chill years ahead, 

When Time shall count from the date 
That the English began to hate. 



M 



THE PRAYER 

Y BROTHER kneels, so saith Kabir, 
To stone and brass in heathen-wise, 
But in my brother's voice I hear 
My own unanswered agonies. 
His God is as his fates assign, 
His prayer is all the world's — and mine 



SONGS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY 



THE RIVER'S TALE 

(Prehistoric) 

fPVENTY bridges from Tower to Kew 

Wanted to know what the River knew y 
For they were young and the Thames was old, 
And this is the tale that the River told: — 

"I walk my beat before London Town, 

Five hours up and seven down. 

Up I go till I end my run 

At Tide-end-town, which is Teddington. 

Down I come with the mud in my hands 

And plaster it over the Maplin Sands. 

But Td have you know that these waters of mine 

Were once a branch of the River Rhine, 

When hundreds of miles to the East I went 

And England was joined to the Continent. 

I remember the bat-winged lizard-birds, 

The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds, 

And the giant tigers that stalked them down 

Through Regent's Park into Camden Town. 

And I remember like yesterday 

The earliest Cockney who came my way, 

When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand, 

With paint on his face and a club in his hand. 

He was death to feather and fin and fur, 

He trapped my beavers at Westminster. 

He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer, 

He killed my herons off Lambeth Pier. 

He fought his neighbour with axes and swords, 

Flint or bronze, at my upper fords, 

While down at Greenwich, for slaves and tin, 

The tall Phoenician ships stole in, 

743 



744 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And North Sea war-boats, painted and gay, 

Flashed like dragon-flies Erith way; 

And Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek 

Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek, 

And life was gay, and the world was new, 

And I was a mile across at Kew! 

But the Roman came with a heavy hand, 

And bridged and roaded and ruled the land, 

And the Roman left and the Danes blew in — ■ 

And that's where your history-books begin!" 



THE ROMAN CENTURION'S SONG 

(Roman Occupation of Britain, a. d. 300) 

[" EGATE, I had the news last night — my cohort ordered 

home 
By ship to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome. 
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed 

below: 
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go! 

I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall 

I have none other home than this, nor any life at all. 

Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws 

near 
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here. 

Here where men say my name was made, here where my 
work was done, 

Here where my dearest dead are laid — my wife — my wife 
and son; 

Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memorv, ser- 
vice, love, 

Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove? 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 745 

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields 

suffice. 
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful 

Northern skies, 
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August 

haze — 
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted 

days? 



You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine and olive lean 
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean 
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on, 
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euro- 
clydon ! 

You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending 

pines 
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean 

shines. 
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but — will you e'er 

forget 
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet? 



Let me work here for Britain's sake — at any task you will — 
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill. 
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border 

keep, 
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep. 

Legate, I come to you in tears — My cohort ordered home! 
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do w 

Rome? 
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind — the only life I know. 
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go! 



746 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE PIRATES IN ENGLAND 

(Saxon Invasion, a. d. 400-606) 

Tl/'HEN Rome was rotten-ripe to her fall, 

And the sceptre passed from her hand. 
The pestilent Picts leaped over the wall 
To harry the English land. 

The little dark men of the mountain and waste. 

So quick to laughter and tears, 
They came panting with hate and haste 

For the loot of five hundred years. 

They killed the trader, they sacked the shops, 

They ruined temple and town — 
They swept like wolves through the standing crops 

Crying that Rome was down. 

They wiped out all that they could find 
Of beauty and strength and worth, 

But they could not wipe out the Viking's Wind, 
That brings the ships from the North. 

They could not wipe out the North-East gales, 

Nor what those gales set free — 
The pirate ships with their close-reefed sails 3 

Leaping from sea to sea. 

They had forgotten the shield-hung hull 

Seen nearer and more plain, 
Dipping into the troughs like a gull, 

And gull-like rising again — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 747 

The painted eyes that glare and frown, 

In the high snake-headed stem, 
Searching the beach while her sail comes down, 

They had forgotten them! 

There was no Count of the Saxon Shore 

To meet her hand to hand, 
As she took the beach with a grind and a roar, 

And the pirates rushed inland. 



DANEGELD 

(a. d. 980-1016) 

TT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation. 

To call upon a neighbour and to say: — 
"We invaded you last night — we are quite prepared to fight, 
Unless you pay us cash to go away." 

And that is called asking for Dane-geld, 

And the people who ask it explain 
That youVe only to pay 'em the Dane-geld 

And then you'll get rid of the Dane! 

It is always a temptation to a rich and lazy nation, 

To puff and look important and to say: — 
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the 
time to meet you. 

We will therefore pay you cash to go away." 

And that is called paying the Dane-geld; 

But we've proved it again and again, 
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld 

You never get rid of the Dane. 



748 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation, 
For fear they should succumb and go astray, 

So when you are requested to pay up or be molested, 
You will find it better policy to say: — ■ 

"We never pay any one Dane-geld, 

No matter how trifling the cost, 
For the end of that game is oppression and shame, 

And the nation that plays it is lost!" 



THE ANVIL 

(Norman Conquest, 1066) 

ENGLAND'S on the anvil — hear the hammers ring — 

Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne! 
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King — 

England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into 
line ! 



England's on the anvil! Heavy are the blows! 

(But the work will be a marvel when it's done) 
Little bits of Kingdoms cannot stand against their foes. 

England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into 



There shall be one people — it shall serve one Lord — 

(Neither Priest nor Baron shall escape!) 
It shall have one speech and law, soul and strength and sword. 

England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into 
shape! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 749 

xVORMAN AND SAXON 

(a. d. i 100) 

lV/f Y SON," said the Norman Baron, "I am dying, and you 

will be heir 
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for 

my share 
When we conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little 

handful it is, 
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand 

this: — 

"The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not 

so polite. 
But he never means anything serious till he talks about 

justice and right. 
When he stands like an ox in the furrow with his sullen set 

eyes on your own, 
And grumbles, "This isn't fair dealings," my son, leave the 

Saxon alone. 

"You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your 

Picardy spears, 
But don't try that game on the Saxon; you'll have the whole 

brood round your ears. 
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest 

chained serf in the field, 
They'll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are 

wise, you will yield. 

"But first you must master their language, their dialect, 

proverbs and songs. 
Don't trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the 

tale of their wrongs. 



750 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Let them know that you know what they're saying; let them 

feel that you know what to say. 
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear 'em out if it 

takes you all day. 

"They'll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every 

hour of the dark, 
It's the sport not the rabbits they 're after (we 've plenty of 

game in the park). 
Don't hang them or cut off their fingers. That's wasteful 

as well as unkind, 
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best 

man-at-arms you can find. 

" Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings 

and funerals and feasts. 
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor 

parish priests. 
Say 'we,' 'us s and 'ours' when you're talking instead of 

'you fellows' and 'I.' 
Don't ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell 

'em a lie!" 



THE REEDS OF RUNNYMEDE 

(Magna Charta, June 15, 1215) 

AT RUNNYMEDE, at Runnymede, 

What say the reeds at Runnymede? 
The lissom reeds that give and take, 
That bend so far, but never break. 
They keep the sleepy Thames awake 
With tales of John at Runnymede. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 751 

At Runnymede, at Runnymede, 

Oh hear the reeds at Runnymede: — 
"You must n't sell, delay, deny, 
A freeman's right or liberty, 
It wakes the stubborn Englishry, 

We saw 'em roused at Runnymede! 



"When through our ranks the Barons came, 
With little thought of praise or blame, 
But resolute to play the game, 

They lumbered up to Runnymede; 
And there they launched in solid line, 
The first attack on Right Divine — 
The curt, uncompromising 'Sign!' 

That settled John at Runnymede. 



"At Runnymede, at Runnymede, 
Your rights were won at Runnymede! 
No freeman shall be fined or bound, 

Or dispossessed of freehold ground, 
Except by lawful judgment found 
And passed upon him by his peers! 
Forget not, after all these years, 

The Charter signed at Runnymede." 



And still when Mob or Monarch lays 
Too rude a hand on English ways, 
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays, 

Across the reeds at Runnymede. 
And Thames, that knows the moods of kings, 
And crowds and priests and suchlike things, 
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings 

Their warning down from Runnymede! 



752 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

MY FATHER'S CHAIR 

(Parliaments of Henry III, 1265) 

HPHERE are four good legs to my Father's Chair- 
Priest and People and Lords and Crown. 
I sits on all of 'em fair and square, 
And that is the reason it don't break down. 

I won't trust one leg, nor two, nor three, 
To carry my weight when I sets me down, 
I wants all four of 'em under me — 
Priest and People and Lords and Crown. 

I sits on all four and I favours none — 
Priest, nor People, nor Lords, nor Crown- 
And I never tilts in my chair, my son, 
And that is the reason it don't break down! 

When your time comes to sit in my Chair, 
Remember your Father's habits and rules. 
Sit on all four legs, fair and square, 
And never be tempted by one-legged stools! 



THE DAWN WIND 

(The Fifteenth Century) 

A T TWO o'clock in the morning, if you open your window 
and listen, 
You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the 
sun. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 753 

And the trees in the shadow rustle and the trees in the moon- 
light glisten, 
And though it is deep, dark, night, you feel that the night 
is done. 

So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie 

down, 

Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes, 

Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind strays on, 

Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness 

breaks. 

Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel's 
wing, 
Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: "The Sun! 
The Sun!" 
And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing, 
And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his 
work is done. 

So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her 
waking 
Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and 
moan, 
Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking, 
And every one smiles at his neighbour and tells him his soul 
is his own ! 



THE KING'S JOB 

(The Tudor Monarchy) 



/^JNCE on a time was a King anxious to understand 

What was the wisest thing a man could do for his land. 
Most of his population hurried to answer the question, 
Each with a long oration, each with a new suggestion. 



754 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

They interrupted his meals — he wasn't safe in his bed from 

'em— 
They hung round his neck and heels, and at last His 

Majesty fled from 'em. 
He put on a leper's cloak (people leave lepers alone), 
Out of the window he broke, and abdicated his throne. 
All that rapturous day, while his Court and his Ministers 

mourned him, 
He danced on his own highway till his own Policemen warned 

him. 
Gay and cheerful he ran (lepers don't cheer as a rule) 
Till he found a philosopher-man teaching an infant-school. 
The windows were open wide, the King sat down on the grass, 
And heard the children inside reciting "Our King is an ass." 
The King popped in his head, "Some people would call this 

treason, 
But I think you are right," he said; "Will you kindly give 

me your reason?" 
Lepers in school are as rare as kings with a leper's dress on, 
But the class didn't stop or stare; it calmly went on with the 

lesson : 
" The wisest thing, we suppose ', that a man can do for his land, 
Is the work that lies under his nose, with the tools that lie under 

his handT 
The King whipped off his cloak, and stood in his crown before 

'em. 
He said: "My dear little folk, Ex ore parvulorum — 
(Which is Latin for "Children know more than grown-ups 

would credit") 
You have shown me the road to go, and I propose to tread it." 
Back to his Kingdom he ran, and issued a Proclamation, 
"Let every living man return to his occupation!" 
Then he explained to the mob that cheered in his palace and 

round it, 
"I've been to look for a job, and Heaven be praised I've 

found it!" 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 755 

WITH DRAKE IN THE TROPICS 

(a. d. 1580) 

COUTH and far south below the Line, 

Our Admiral leads us on, 
Above, undreamed-of planets shine — 

The stars we knew are gone. 
Around, our clustered seamen mark 

The silent deep ablaze 
With fires, through which the far-down shark 

Shoots glimmering on his ways. 

The sultry tropic breezes fail 

That plagued us all day through; 
Like molten silver hangs our sail, 

Our decks are dark with dew. 
Now the rank moon commands the sky, 

Ho! Bid the watch beware 
And rouse all sleeping men that lie 

Unsheltered in her glare. 

How long the time 'twixt bell and bell! 

How still our lanthorns burn! 
How strange our whispered words that tell 

Of England and return! 
Old towns, old streets, old friends, old loves, 

We name them each to each, 
While the lit face of Heaven removes 

Them farther from our reach. 

Now is the utmost ebb of night 

When mind and body sink, 
And loneliness and gathering fright 

O'erwhelm us, if we think — 



756 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Yet, look, where in his room apart, 
All windows opened wide, 

Our Admiral thrusts away the chart 
And comes to walk outside. 

Kindly, from man to man he goes, 

With comfort, praise, or jest, 
Quick to suspect our childish woes, 

Our terror and unrest. 
It is as though the sun should shine — 

Our midnight fears are gone! 
South and far south below the Line, 

Our Admiral leads us on! 



"TOGETHER" 

(England at War) 

AX/'HEN Horse and Rider each can trust the other every- 
where, 

It takes a fence and more than a fence to pound that happy 
pair; 

For the one will do what the other demands, although he is 
beaten and blown, 

And when it is done, they can live through a run that neither 
could face alone. 

When Crew and Captain understand each other to the core, 
It takes a gale and more than a gale to put their ship ashore; 
For the one will do what the other commands, although they 

are chilled to the bone, 
And both together can live through weather that neither 

could face alone. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1385-1918 757 

When King and People understand each other past a doubt, 
It takes a foe and more than a foe to knock that country 

out; 
For the one will do what the other requires as soon as the 

need is shown, 
And hand in hand they can make a stand which neither could 

make alone! 

This wisdom had Elizabeth and all her subjects too, 

For she was theirs and they were hers, as well the Spaniard 

knew; 
For when his grim Armada came to conquer the Nation and 

Throne, 
Wny, back to back they met an attack that neither could face 

alone ! 

It is not wealth nor talk nor trade nor schools nor even the 

Vote, 
Will save your land when the enemy's hand is tightening 

round your throat. 
But a King and a People who thoroughly trust each other in 

all that is done 
Can sleep on their bed without any dread — for the world will 

leave 'em alone! 



JAMES I 

(1 603-1 625) 

HTHE child of Mary Queen of Scots, 

A shifty mother's shiftless son, 
Bred up among intrigues and plots, 

Learned in all things, wise in none. 
Ungainly, babbling, wasteful, weak, 

Shrewd, clever, cowardly, pedantic, 
The sight of steel would blanch his cheek, 

The smell of baccy drive him frantic. 



758 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

He was the author of his line — 

He wrote that witches should be burnt; 

He wrote that monarchs were divine, 

And left a son who — proved they weren't! 



EDGEHILL FIGHT 
(Civil Wars, 1642) 

'M^AKED and grey the Cotswolds stand 

Beneath the autumn sun, 
And the stubble-fields on either hand 

Where Stour and Avon run. 
There is no change in the patient land 

That has bred us every one. 

She should have passed in cloud and fire 

And saved us from this sin 
Of war — red war — 'twixt child and sire, 

Household and kith and kin, 
In the heart of a sleepy Midland shire, 

With the harvest scarcely in. 

But there is no change as we meet at last 
On the brow-head or the plain, 

And the raw astonished ranks stand fast 
To slay or to be slain 

By the men they knew in the kindly past 
That shall never come again — 

By the men they met at dance or chase, 

In the tavern or the hall, 
At the justice-bench and the market-place, 

At the cudgel-play or brawl — 
Of their own blood and speech and race, 

Comrades or neighbours all! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 759 

More bitter than death this day must prove 

Whichever way it go, 
For the brothers of the maids we love 

Make ready to lay low 
Their sisters' sweethearts, as we move 

Against our dearest foe. 

Thank Heaven ! At last the trumpets peal 

Before our strength gives way. 
For King or for the Commonweal 

No matter which they say, 
The first dry rattle of new-drawn steel 

Changes the world to-day! 



THE DUTCH IN THE MEDWAY 

(1 6 6 4- 1 6 7 2) 

TF WARS were won by feasting, 

Or victory by song, 
Or safety found in sleeping sound, 

How England would be strong! 
But honour and dominion 

Are not maintained so, 
They're only got by sword and shot, 

And this the Dutchmen know ! 

The moneys that should feed us, 

You spend on your delight, 
How can you then have sailor-men 

To aid you in your fight? 
Our fish and cheese are rotten, 

Which makes the scurvy grow — 
We cannot serve you if we starve, 

And this the Dutchmen know ! 



76o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

Our ships in every harbour 

Be neither whole nor sound, 
And, when we seek to mend a leak, 

No oakum can be found, 
Or, if it is, the caulkers, 

And carpenters also, 
For lack of pay have gone away, 

And this the Dutchmen know I 

Mere powder, guns, and bullets, 

We scarce can get at all, 
Their price was spent in merriment 

And revel at Whitehall, 
While we in tattered doublets 

From ship to ship must row, 
Beseeching friends for odds and ends— 

And this the Dutchmen know I 

No King will heed our warnings, 

No Court will pay our claims — 
Our King and Court for their disport 

Do sell the very Thames ! 
For, now De Ruyter's topsails, 

Off naked Chatham show, 
We dare not meet him with our fleet — 

And this the Dutchmen know ! 



"BROWN BESS" 

(The Army Musket — 1700-18 15) 

TN THE days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade 

Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despis* 
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade, 
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes — 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 761 

At Blenheim and Ramillies fops would confess 

They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess. 

Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small 
Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear; 

And everyone bowed as she opened the ball 

On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier. 

Half Europe admitted the striking success 

Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess. 

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks 
And people wore pigtails instead of perukes 

Brown Bess never altered her iron-grey locks, 

She knew she was valued for more than her looks. 

"Oh, powder and patches was always my dress, 

And I think I am killing enough," said Brown Bess. 

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did, 
From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye, 

From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid, 
And nothing about her was changed on the way; 

(But most of the Empire which now we possess 

Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.) 

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance, 

From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain 

She had puzzled some excellent Marshals of France 
Till none of them wanted to meet her again: 

But later, near Brussels, Napoleon — no less — 

Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess. 

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day — 
She danced on till dusk of more terrible night, 

And before her linked squares his battalions gave way 
And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight: 

And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press, 

"I have danced my last dance for the world!" said Brown 
Bess. 



762 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

If you go to Museums — there's one in Whitehall — 
Where old weapons are shown with their names writ be- 
neath, 

You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall, 
As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth. 

And if ever we English had reason to bless 

Any arm save our mothers', that arm is Brown Bess! 



THE AMERICAN REBELLION 

(i7 7 6) 

I 

Before 

pWAS not while England's sword unsheathed 
Put half a world to flight, 
Nor while their new-built cities breathed 

Secure behind her might; 
Not while she poured from Pole to Line 

Treasure and ships and men — 
These worshippers at Freedom's shrine 

They did not quit her then! 



Not till their foes were driven forth 

By England o'er the main — 
Not till the Frenchman from the North 

Had gone with shattered Spain; 
Not till the clean-swept oceans showed 

No hostile flag unrolled, 
Did they remember what they owed 

To Freedom — and were bola! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 jb$ 



After 

*"THE snow lies thick on Valley Forge, 

The ice on the Delaware, 
But the poor dead soldiers of King George 
They neither know nor care — 

Not though the earliest primrose break 

On the sunny side of the lane, 
And scuffling rookeries awake 

Their England's spring again. 

They will not stir when the drifts are gone 

Or the ice melts out of the bay: 
And the men that served with Washington 

Lie all as still as they. 

They will not stir though the mayflower blows 
In the moist dark woods of pine, 

And every rock-strewn pasture shows 
Mullein and columbine. 

Each for his land, in a fair fight, 

Encountered, strove, and died, 
And the kindly earth that knows no spite 

Covers them side by side. 

She is too busy to think of war; 

She has all the world to make gay; 
And, behold, the yearly flowers are, 

Where they were in our fathers' day! 

Golden-rod by <rhe pasture-wall 

When the columbine is dead, 
And sumach leaves that turn, in fall, 

Bright as the blood they shed. 



764 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE FRENCH WARS 

(Napoleonic) 

HPHE boats of Newhaven and Folkestone and Dover 

To Dieppe and Boulogne and to Calais cross over; 
And in each of those runs there is not a square yard 
Where the English and French haven't fought and fought 
hard! 

If the ships that were sunk could be floated once more, 
They'd stretch like a raft from the shore to the shore, 
And we'd see, as we crossed, every pattern and plan 
Of ship that was built since sea-fighting began. 

There'd be biremes and brigantines, cutters and sloops, 
Cogs, carracks and galleons with gay gilded poops — 
Hoys, caravels, ketches, corvettes and the rest, 
As thick as regattas, from Ramsgate to Brest. 

But the galleys of Caesar, the squadrons of Sluys, 
And Nelson's crack frigates are hid from our eyes, 
Where the high Seventy-fours of Napoleon's days 
Lie down with Deal luggers and French chasse-mar'ees. 

They'll answer no signal — they rest on the ooze, 

With their honey-combed guns and their skeleton crews — 

And racing above them, through sunshine or gale, 

The Cross-Channel packets come in with the Mail. 

Then the poor sea-sick passengers, English and French, 
Must open their trunks on the Custom-house bench, 
While the officers rummage for smuggled cigars 
And nobody thinks of our blood-thirsty wars! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 765 

BIG STEAMERS 

1 9 1 4- 1 8 

(~)H, WHERE are you going to, all you Big Steamers, 

With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?" 
"We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter, 
Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese." 

"And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers, 
And where shall I write you when you are away?" 

"We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver — 
Address us at Hobart, Hong-Kong, and Bombay." 

" But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers, 

And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?" 

"Then you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast, 
And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea." 

"Then I'll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers, 

For little blue billows and breezes so soft." 
"Oh, billows and breezes don't bother Big Steamers, 

For we're iron below and steel-rigging aloft." 

"Then I'll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers, 
With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through." 

"Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ball-room already, 
And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe." 

"Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers, 
Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?" 

" Send out your big warships to watch your big waters, 
That no one may stop us from bringing you food. 



766 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

"For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble ', 
The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve y 

They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers- - 
And if any one hinders our coming you 11 starve /" 



THE SECRET OF THE MACHINES 

( Modern Machinery) 



W 



E WERE taken from the ore-bed and the mine, 
We were melted in the furnace and the pit — 
We were cast and wrought and hammered to design, 

We were cut and filed and tooled and gauged to fit. 
Some water, coal, and oil is all we ask, 

And a thousandth of an inch to give us play: 
And now if you will set us to our task, 

We will serve you four and twenty hours a day! 



We can pull and haul and push and lift and drive, 
We can print and plough and weave and heat and light, 
We can run and jump and swim and fly and dive, 
We can see and hear and count and read and write! 



Would you call a friend from half across the world ? 

If you'll let us have his name and town and state, 
You shall see and hear your crackling question hurled 

Across the arch of heaven while you wait. 
Has he answered? Does he need you at his side? 

You can start this very evening if you choose, 
And take the Western Ocean in the stride 

Of seventy thousand horses and some screws I 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 7 fr 

The boat-express is waiting your command! 
You will find the Mauretania at the quay, 
Till her captain turns the lever 'neath his hand, 
And the monstrous nine-decked city goes to sea. 



Do you wish to make the mountains bare their head 

And lay their new-cut forests at your feet? 
Do you want to turn a river in its bed, 

Or plant a barren wilderness with wheat? 
Shall we pipe aloft and bring you water down 

From the never-failing cisterns of the snows, 
To work the mills and tramways in your town, 

And irrigate your orchards as it flows? 



It is easy! Give us dynamite and drills! 

Watch the iron-shouldered rocks lie down and quake 

As the thirsty desert-level floods and fills, 

And the valley we have dammed becomes a lake. 



But remember, please, the Law by which we live, 

We are not built to comprehend a lie, 
We can neither love nor pity nor forgive, 

If you make a slip in handling us you die! 
We are greater than the Peoples or the Kings — 

Be humlne, as you crawl beneath our rods! — 
Our touch can alter all created things, 

We are everything on earth — except The Gods ! 



Though our smoke may hide the Heavens from your eye. 
It will vanish and the stars will shine again. 
Because, for all our power and weight and size, 
We are nothing more than childreyi of your brain f 



768 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

THE BELLS AND QUEEN VICTORIA 

i 9 i i 

C2AY go up and gay go down 

To ring the Bells of London Town." 
When London Towns asleep in bed 
You 11 hear the Bells ring overhead. 

In ex eels is gloria ! 

Ringing/or Victoria, 
Ringing for their mighty mistress — ten years dead I 

The Bells: 

Here is more gain than Gloriana guessed — 

That Gloriana guessed or Indies bring — 
Than golden Indies bring. A Queen confessed — 

A Queen confessed that crowned her people King. 
Her people King, and crowned all Kings above, 

Above all Kings have crowned their Queen their love — 
Have crowned their love their Queen, their Queen their love! 



Denying her, we do ourselves deny, 

Disowning her are we ourselves disowned. 

Mirror was she of our fidelity, 

And handmaid of our destiny enthroned; 

The very marrow of Youth's dream, and still 

Yoke-mate of wisest Age that worked her will! 



Our fathers had declared to us her praise — 

Her praise the years had proven past all speech, 

And past all speech our loyal hearts always, 
Always our hearts lay open, each to each — 

Therefore men gave their treasure and their blood 

To this one woman — for she understood ! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 769 

Four the clock ! Now all the world is still. 
Oh> London Bells, to all the world declare 
The Secret of the Empire — read who will I 
The Glory of the People — touch who dare I 

The Bells: 

Power that has reached itself all kingly powers, 
*S7. Margaret's: By love o'erpowered — 
St. Martin s: By love o'erpowered — 
St. Clement Danes: By love o'erpowered, 
The greater power confers! 

The Bells: 

For we were hers, as she, as she was ours, 
Bow Bells: And she was ours — 
St. Paul's: And she was ours — 
Westminster: And she was ours, 

As we, even we, were hers! 

The Bells: 

As we were hers! 



THE GLORY OF THE GARDEN 

|UR England is a garden that is full of stately views, 
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues, 
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by; 
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye- 



O 1 



For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall, 
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of 

all, 
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the 

tanks, 
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the 

planks. 



77o RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice 

boys 
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise; 
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the 

birds, 
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words. 

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose, 
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows; 
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and 

loam, 
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come. 

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made 
By singing: — "Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade, 
While better men than we go out and start their working lives 
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner- 
knives. 

There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick, 
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick. 
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done, 
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one. 

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further 

orders, 
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders; 
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to 

harden, 
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden. 

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees 
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees. 
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and 

pray 
For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away! 
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never -pass away I 



All the poems in this volume belong 
to the period 01*1885 to 1918 inclusive, 
with the exception of "Great-Heart," 
which was written after Theodore 
Roosevelt's death in 1919. 



772 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

GREAT-HEART 

(Theodore Roosevelt in 19 19) 

~*The Interpreter then called jor a man-servant of his , one Great-Heart." 

— Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" 

(CONCERNING brave Captains 

Our age hath made known 
For all men to honour, 

One standeth alone, 
Of whom, o'er both oceans 

Both Peoples may say: 
"Our realm is diminished 

With Great-Heart away." 



In purpose unsparing, 

In action no less, 
The labours he praised 

He would seek and profess 
Through travail and battle, 

At hazard and pain. . . . 
And our world is none the braver 

Since Great-Heart was ta'en! 



Plain speech with plain folk, 

And plain words for false things, 
Plain faith in plain dealing 

'Twixt neighbours or kings 
He used and he followed, 

However it sped. . . . 
Oh, our world is none more honest 

Now Great-Heart is dead! 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 773 

The heat of his spirit 

Struck warm through all lands; 
For he loved such as showed 

'Emselves men of their hands; 
In love, as in hate, 

Paying home to the last. . . . 
But our world is none the kinder 

Now Great-Heart hath passed! 



Hard-schooled by long power, 

Yet most humble of mind 
Where aught that he was 

Might advantage mankind. 
Leal servant, loved master, 

Rare comrade, sure guide . 
Oh, our world is none the safer 

Now Great-Heart hath died! 



Let those who would handle 

Make sure they can wield 
His far-reaching sword 

And his close-guarding shield^ 
For those who must journey 

Henceforward alone 
Have need of stout convoy 

Now Great-Heart is gone. 



774 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 

PHILADELPHIA 

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, 

You mustn't take my stories for a guide. 
There's little left, indeed, of the city you will read of, 

And all the folk I write about have died. 
Now few will understand if you mention Talleyrand, 

Or remember what his cunning and his skill did; 
And the cabmen at the wharf do not know Count 
Zinnendorf, 

Nor the Church in Philadelphia he builded. 

It is gone, gone, gone with lost Atlantis, 

(Never say I didn't give you warning). 

In Seventeen Ninety-three 'twas there for all 

to see, 
But it's not in Philadelphia this morning. 

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, 

You mustn't go by everything I've said. 
Bob Bicknell's Southern Stages have been laid aside for 
ages, 

But the Limited will take you there instead. 
Toby Hirte can't be seen at One Hundred and Eighteen 

North Second Street — no matter when you call; 
And I fear you'll search in vain for the wash-house down 

the lane 
Where Pharaoh played the fiddle at the ball. 

It is gone, gone, gone with Thebes the Golden, 
(Never say I didn't give you warning). 
In Seventeen Ninety-four 'twas a famous dancing- 
floor — 
But it's not in Philadelphia this morning. 



INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 775 

It you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, 

You must telegraph for rooms at some Hotel. 
You needn't try your luck at Epply's or the "Buck," 

Though the Father of his Country liked them well. 
Jt is not the slightest use to inquire for Adam Goos, 

Or to ask where Pastor Meder has removed — so 
You must treat as out of date the story I relate, 

Of the Church in Philadelphia he loved so. 

He is gone, gone, gone with Martin Luther 

(Never say I didn't give you warning) 

In Seventeen Ninety-five he was (rest his soul!) 

alive. 
But he's not in Philadelphia this morning. 

If you're off to Philadelphia this morning, 

And wish to prove the truth of what I say, 
I pledge my word you'll find the pleasant land behind 

Unaltered since Red Jacket rode that way. 
Still the pine-woods scent the noon; still the catbird sings 
his tune; 

Still autumn sets the maple-forest blazing. 
Still the grape-vine through the dusk flings her soul- 
compelling musk; 

Still the fire-flies in the corn make night amazing! 

They are there, there, there with Earth immortal 

(Citizens, I give you friendly warning). 

The things that truly last when men and times 

have passed, 
They are all in Pennsylvania this morning! 



776 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE 



WHEN 'OMER SMOTE IS BLOOMIN' LYRE 

When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin ' lyre, 
He'd 'eard men sing by land an * sea; 

An ' what he thought V might require, 
'E went an ' took — the same as me ! 

The market-girls an ' fishermen, 
The shepherds an ' the sailors, too, 

They y eard old songs turn up again, 
But kep y it quiet — same as you ! 

They knew V stole; 'e knew they knowed. 

They didnt tell, nor make a fuss, 
But winked at 'Omer down the road, 

An ' V winked back — the same as us ! 



THE END 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 



PAGE 



A farmer of the Augustan Age 609 

A fool there was and he made his prayer 251 

A great and glorious thing it is 50 

A Nation spoke to a Nation, 208 

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, 425 

A stone's throw out on either hand 575 

A tinker out of Bedford, ^33 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told 279 

About the time that taverns shut 725 

Across a world where all men grieve 446 

After the burial-parties leave 365 

After the sack of the City when Rome was sunk to a name . 712 

Ah! What avails the classic bent 391 

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the "Operatic Own," 5 

All day long to the judgment-seat 608 

All the world over, nursing their scars, 638 

Alone upon the housetops to the North 700 

"And some are sulky, while some will plunge 574 

And they were stronger hands than mine 700 

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree 738 

" 'As anybody seen Bill 'Awkins?" 504 

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely .... 59 

As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard the Crocodile, 492 

As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, 161 

As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled — 734 

At Runnymede, at Runnymede, 750 

At the close of a winter day, 381 

At the hole where he went in 708 

At times when under cover I 'ave said, 537 

At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen, . 752 

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 470 

Away by the lands of the Japanee 1 29 

Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine — 49 

Be well assured that on our side 169 

Beat off in our last fight were we? 604 

Because I sought it far from men, 604 

Bees ! Bees ! Hark to your bees ! 659 

Before a midnight breaks in storm, 337 

Before my Spring I garnered Autumn's gain, 636 

777 



778 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

Beneath the deep verandah's shade, 72 

Between the waving tufts of jungle-grass, 634 

Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled — 9c 

" Blessed be the English and all their ways and works 571 

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, 19 

Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold: 283 

Brethren, how shall it fare with me 376 

Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all \ ^35 

Buy my English posies ! 216 

By the Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed 690 

By the Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass . ic 

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea, .... 476 

By the well, where the bullocks go 7 c 

China-going P. and O.'s 673 

Cities and Thrones and Powers, 554 

Concerning brave Captains 771 

Cry "Murder" in the market-place, and each 577 

Dark children of the mere and marsh, 635 

Dawn off the Foreland — the young flood making 693 

Delilah Aberyswith was a lady — not too young — 7 

Dim dawn behind the tamarisks — the sky is saffron-yellow — ... 61 

Duly with knees that feign to quake — 2S\> 

'E was warned agin 'er — 509 

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid 581 

England's on the anvil — hear the hammers ring — 748 

Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 302 

Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,. . . 683 

Ere the steamer bore him Eastwal 1 , Sleary was engaged to marry 12 

Excellent herbs had our fathers or old — ... 6y 

Eyes aloft, over dangerous places, 69- 

Eyes of grey — a sodden quay, 3.1 

Fair is our lot — goodly is our heritage ! 194. 

Farewell and adieu to you, Harwich Ladies, 639 

Farewell, Romance! the Cave-men said; 429 

Files — 401 

For a season there must be pain — 680 

For all we have and are, 378 

For our white and our excellent nights — for the nights of swift running, 70- 

For the sake of him who showed 591 

For things we never mention, uc 

From the wheel and the drift of Things 68c 

Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail 37*/ 

Gay go up and gay go down 768 

Go, stalk the red deer o'er the heather, 573 

God gave all men all earth to love, .... . 244 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 779 



PAGE 



God of our fathers, known of old, 377 

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,. . . 319 

Gold is for the mistress — silver for the maid — 577 

Harry, our King in England, from London town is gone, .721 

"'Have you news of my boy Jack?" 247 

He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse; 576 

He passed in the very battle-smoke 233 

Hear now the Song of the Dead — in the North by the torn berg-edges — . 196 

Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again! . . . 127 

Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, 259 

Her hand was still on her sword-hilt, the spur was still on her heel, 214 

Here come I to my own again, 646 

Here is a horse to tame 408 

11 Here is nothing new nor aught unproven," say the Trumpets, . . .341 

Here we go in a flung festoon, 61c 

Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, 242 

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's pride. 705 

"How far is St. Helena from a little child at play?" 596 

How shall she know the worship we would do her? 52 

"How sweet is the shepherd's sweet life! 39 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazaar, 17 

J am the land of their fathers 554 

I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones, .... 670 

I ate my fill of a whale that died 395 

I closed and drew for my love's sake 562 

I do not look for holy saints to guide me on my way, ^23 

T do not love my Empire's foes, 546 

I followed my Duke ere I was a lover, 564 

I go to concert, party, ball — 25 

I had seen, as dawn was breaking 31 

I have been given my charge to keep — 587 

/ have eaten your bread and salt. 3 

I have made for you a song, 448 

I keep six honest serving-men 671 

I know not in whose hands are laid 648 

I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!) .... 653 

I see the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand, . . 570 

I sent a message to my dear — 101 

I tell this tale, which is strictly true, 718 

I will let loose against you the fleet-footed vines — 703 

I will remember what I was, I am sick of rope and chain — . 709 

I wish my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under my arm, 527 

I was Lord of Cities very sumptuously builded 660 

I was the staunchest of our fleet 170 

I was very well pleased with what I knowed, ^^) 



7 8o INDEX TO FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

I went into a public- 'ouse to get a pint o' beer, 453 

I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at, 487 

I'm just in love with these three, 558 

I've a head like a concertina, I've a tongue like a button-stick, 460 

I've never sailed the Amazon, 672 

I've paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your crackedest 

whim — 147 

I've taken my fun where I've found it; 502 

If any God should say 649 

If down here I chance to die, 35 

" If I have taken the common clay 606 

If I were hanged on the highest hill, 701 

If it be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai, .... 68 

If the Led Striker call it a strike, .... 210 

If thought can reach to Heaven, 658 

If wars were won by feasting, 759 

If you can keep your head when all about you 645 

If you stop to find out what your wages will be 426 

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, 720 

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, 774 

If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back, . . . 466 

Imprimis he was " broke." Thereafter left 90 

In a land that the sand overlays — the ways to her gates are untrod — . 361 
In extended observation of the ways and works of man, ... .331 

In Lowestoft a boat was laid, 717 

In the days of lace-rufHes, perukes and brocade 760 

In the daytime, when she moved about me, 575 

In the name of the Empress of India, make way, 37 

In the Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage 393 

It got beyond all orders an' it got beyond all 'ope; 497 

It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation, .... 747 

It was an artless Bandar and he danced upon a pine, 38 

It was an August evening and, in snowy garments clad, .... 22 

It was not in the open fight 575 

It was not part of their blood, 739 

It was our war-ship Clampherdown 153 

It's forty in the shade to-day the spouting eaves declare; .... 407 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta 11 

Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 44 

Jenny and Me were engaged, you see, 20 

Jubal sang of the Wrath of God 622 

Kabul town's by Kabul river — 481 

King Solomon drew merchantmen, 17 2 

Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee 642 

Legate, I had the news last night — my cohort ordered home . 744 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 781 

PAGE 

'Less you want your toes trod off you'd better get back at once, . . 638 

Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, 344 

" Let us now praise famous men" 623 

Life's all getting and giving, 689 

Lived a woman wonderful, . 237 

Look, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these 573 

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream, . . 137 

Love and Death once ceased their strife 423 

Man goes to Man! Cry the challenge through the Jungle! . . 707 

March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies, 490 

Me that 'ave been what I've been — 524 

Men make them fires on the hearth 93 

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her: 183 

Mithras, God of the Morning, our trumpets waken the Wall! . . . 589 

Much I owe to the Lands that grew — 652 

My brother kneels, so saith Kabir, 740 

My father's father saw it not, 614 

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach, ... 89 

My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly 486 

My new-cut ashlar takes the light 580 

"My son," said the Norman Baron, "I am dying and you will be heir 749 

Naked and grey the Cotswolds stand 758 

Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged 

races — 661 

No doubt but ye are the People — your throne is above the Kings. . 347 

No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in, 92 

"None whole or clean," we cry, "or free from stain 23 

Not in the camp his victory lies 366 

Not in the thick of the fight, 163 

Not though you die to-night O Sweet, and wail, 574 

Not with an outcry to Allah nor any complaining 598 

Now Chil the Kite brings home the night 705 

Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the Aryan brown, 603 

Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order, . 13 
Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are 

loose — 31 1 

Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, 28 

Now the new year reviving old desires, 187 

Now, this is the cup the White Men drink 324 

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; . . 626 

Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, . . 327 

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, . 411 

Now we are come to our Kingdom, 562 

O woe is me for the merry life 309 

O ye who tread the Narrow Way 105 

Of all the trees that grow so fair, 565 



7 82 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, . 26 S 

Oh gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel .... 84 

Oh glorious are the guarded heights 355 

Oh Hubshee, carry your shoes in your hand and bow your head on 

your breast! 231 

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, 708 

Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands! 578 

Oh, little did the Wolf-child care — 704 

"Oh, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers, 765 

Oh ye who hold the written clue 24c 

Old Horn to All Atlantic said: 729 

"Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead. . . 664 

Once a ripple came to land 696 

Once, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid, 40c 

Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago, 397 

Once on a time was a King anxious to understand 753 

Once we feared The Beast — when he followed us we ran, .... 635 

One from the ends of the earth — gifts at an open door — .... 200 

One man in a thousand, Solomon says, '94 

One moment bid the horses wait, 56 

One moment past our bodies cast 694 

Only two African Kopjes, 535 

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, 53 

Our brows are bound with spindrift and the weed is on cur knees; 195 

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views, 769 

Our Fathers in a wondrous age, 632 

Our gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, 733 

Our Lord Who did the Ox command 579 

Our sister sayeth such and such, 699 

Out o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry 53c 

Over the edge of the purple down, 677 

Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith, — .... 29 

Peace is declared, an' I return 551 

Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide, 576 

Potiphar Gubbins, C.E., 6 

Prophets have honour all over the Earth, 621 

Pussy can sit by the fire and sing, 674 

Put forth to watch, unschooled, alone, 638 

Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Stand forward partners all I . 675 

Read here: This is the story of Evarra — man — 388 

Red Earl, and will ye take for guide 263 

Ride with an idle whip, ride with an unused heel, 575 

Rome never looks where she treads 614 

Roses red and roses white 695 

Poyal and D^er-royal, I the Queen ... 20c 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 7*3 



PAOF 



Rustum Beg of Kolazai — slightly backward Native State — ... 9 

Said England unto Pharaoh, "I must make a man of you, . . 226 

See you the ferny ride that steals 555 

Seven men from all the world back to Docks again, 156 

Seven Watchmen sitting in a tower, 448 

Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant 516 

She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew, . . . 702 

Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow, . . . 585 

Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady! 691 

Singer and tailor am I — 737 

Smells are surer than sounds or sights 541 

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, . . 458 

So here's your Empire. No more wine, then ? Good 78 

So long as 'neath the Kalka hills 66 

So we settled it all when the storm was done 606 

Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 457 

South and far south below the Line, 755 

Speakin' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all — 100 

""Stopped in the straight when the race was his own! 574 

Strangers drawn from the ends of the earth, jewelled and plumed 

were we; 560 

Sudden the desert changes, 234 

Tell it to the locked-up trees, 568 

Take of English earth as much 569 

Take up the White Man's burden — 371 

The Babe was laid in the Manger 248 

The bachelor 'e fights for one 539 

The banked oars fell an hundred strong, 325 

The beasts are very wise, 635 

The boats of Newhaven and Folkestone and Dover 764 

The Camel's hump is an ugly lump 669 

The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Bally-hoo, 599 

The child of Mary Queen of Scots, 757 

The Cities are full of pride, 205 

The dark eleventh hour 266 

The dead child lay in the shroud, 426 

The Doorkeepers of Zion, 104 

The doors were wide, the story saith, 636 

The earth is full of anger, 373 

The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone; . . . 513 

The eldest son bestrides him, 77 

The fans and the beltings they roar round me 357 

The fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea, 145 

The first time that Peter denied his Lord 374 

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell, 582 



784 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 291 

The Garden called Gethsemane 112 

The General 'eard the firin' on the flank, 543 

The God of Fair Beginnings 175 

The gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break in fire. . . 623 

The Injian Ocean sets an' smiles 520 

The King has called for priest and cup, 430 

The lark will make her hymn to God, 607 

The Law whereby my lady moves 698 

The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds — . . .' . . 181 

The men that fought at Minden, they was rookies in their time — . 498 

The night we felt the earth would move 710 

The overfaithful sword returns the user 1 23 

The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow — . . 709 

The rain it rains without a stay 567 

The road to En-dor is easy to tread 417 

The smoke upon your Altar dies, 93 

The Soldier may forget his Sword, 600 

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good 

part; . . 436 

The Stranger within my gate, 616 

The stream is shrunk — the pool is dry, 706 

The strength of twice three thousand horse 164 

The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant, 635 

The Weald is good, the Downs are best — 558 

The white moth to the closing bine, 207 

The wind took off with the sunset — 710 

The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, 607 

The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay: .... 320 

The World hath set its heavy yoke 574 

The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck, . . 286 

The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar — . 199 

There are four good legs to my Father's Chair — 752 

There are no leaders to lead us to honour, and yet without leaders we 

sally, 117 

There are three degrees of bliss 650 

There are whose study is of smells, 652 

There dwells a wife by the Northern Gate, 108 

There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may — . . . 550 

There is a world outside the one you know, 548 

There is pleasure in the wet, wet clay, 605 

There is sorrow enough in the natural way 656 

There runs a road by Merrow Down — 662 

There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay, . . . 472 

There was a strife 'twixt man and maid — 605 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 785 

PAGE 

There was darkness under Heaven 678 

There was never a Queen like Balkis, 675 

There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot, 507 

There was Rundle, Station Master, 505 

There were thirty million English who talked of England's might, . 228 

There were three friends that buried the fourth, 607 

There's a convict more in the Central Jail, 637 

There's a Legion that never was 'listed, 222 

There's a little red-faced man, 449 

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield, . 189 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester 63 

"There's no sense in going further — it's the edge of cultivation," . . 119 

There's no wind along these seas, 732 

These are our regulations — 314 

These are the Four that are never content, that have never been filled 

since the Dews began — 707 

These were my companions going forth by night — 597 

"These were never your true love's eyes 181 

These were our children who died for our lands: they were dear in our 

sight. . . . . 587 

They bear, in place of classic names, 711 

They burnt a corpse upon the sand — 575 

They christened my brother of old — 339 

They killed a child to please the Gods 634 

They shall not return to us, the resolute, the young 346 

They shut the road through the woods 557 

This 'appened in a battle to a batt 'ry of the corps 469 

This fell when dinner-time was done — 73 

This I saw when the rites were done, 603 

This is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end — .... 368 

This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer. . 672 

This is the sorrowful story 404 

This is the State above the Law 329 

Three things make earth unquiet 628 

Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings, 612 

Through learned and laborious years 370 

Through the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasin' Arabi, 511 

Thus said the Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim, 184 

Thy face is far from this our war y 97 

To the Heavens above us 654 

To the Judge of Right and Wrong 212 

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned, 483 

To-day across our fathers' graves, 351 

To-night, God knows what thing shall tide, 576 

"Tommy" you was when it began, 522 



786 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 

PACF 

Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 478 

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban, .... 203 

Try as he will, no man breaks wholly loose 403 

'Twas Fultah Fisher's boarding-house, 4C 

'Twas not while England's sword unsheathed 762 

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew 743 

'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad, 204 

Udai Chand lay sick to death 273 

Until thy feet have trod the Road 681 

Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised, ....... 637 

Valour and Innocence 676 

Veil them, cover them, wall them round — 706 

We are very slightly changed 4 

We be the Gods of the East — 605 

We have no heart for the fishing, we have no hand for the oar — . . 352 

We knew thee of old, 107 

We lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules. 643 

We meet in an evil land 603 

We thought we ranked above the chance of ill 367 

We were all one heart and one race . 354 

We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine, 766 

We're foot — slog — slog — slog — sloggin' over Africa! 538 

We're not so old in the Army List, 224 

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains, 484 

We've drunk to the Queen — God bless her! — 21? 

We've fought with many men acrost the seas, 455 

We've got the cholerer in camp — it's worse than forty fights; . . 500 

We've rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand, . 533 

We've sent our little Cupids all ashore — 179 

"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade 451 

What boots it on the Gods to call ? 421 

" What have we ever done to bear this grudge ? " 57 

What is a woman that you forsake her, 593 

What is the moral ? Who rides may read 595 

What of the hunting, hunter bold? 706 

"What's that that hirples at my side?" 727 

When a lover hies abroad, 604 

When all the world would keep a matter hid, 61 1 

When by the labour of my 'ands 544 

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted an d 

dried, 258 

When first by Eden Tree, 640 

When, foot to wheel and back to wind, 193 

When I left Rome for Lalage's sake 617 

When I was King and a Mason — a Master proven and skilled — . 438 

When Julius Fa bncius, isuu-Fretect of the Weald, 666 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES 787 

PACK 

When Horse and Rider each can trust the other everywhere, . 75*> 

When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre, 77** 

When Rome was rotten-ripe to her tall 746 

When spring-time flushes the desert grass, 283 

When that great Kings return to clay, 239 

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 474 

When the cabin port-holes are dark and green 669 

When the darkened Fifties dip to the North, 103 

When the drums begin to beat 730 

When the earth was sick and the skies were grey, 573 

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,. 386 

When the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay, 620 

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, . . .418 

When the robust and Brass-bound Man commissioned first for sea 716 

When the water's countenance 724 

When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear, 494 

When ye say to Tabaqui, ''My Brother!" when ye call the Hyena 

to meat, 710 

When you've shouted "Rule Britannia," when you've sung "God save 

the Queen," 522 

Whence comest thou, Gehazi, 277 

J< Where have you been this while away, 481 

Where run your colts at pasture ? 1 66 

Where the East wind is brewed fresh and fresh every morning, . .731 

Where the sober-coloured cultivator smiles 86 

Where's the lamp that Hero lit 651 

Whether the State can loose and bind 630 

Who gives him the Bath? 590 

Who hath desired the Sea? — the sight of salt water unbounded— 125 

Who knows the heart of the Christian? How does he reason? 601 

l^ho in the Realm to-day lays down dear life for the sake of a land more dear? 256 

Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order .... 249 

Will they gape for the husks that ye proffer ....... 606 

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty, my soul going out from 

afar? . . 26 

Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro — 252 

W 7 ith those that bred, with those that loosed the strife, 27- 

Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire? 464 

Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go 316 

Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, 607 

You call yourself a man, $*# 

You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile — 113 

You may talk o' gin and beer 4° 2 

You mustn't swim till you're six weeks old, 7°^ 

Your jar of Virginny 618 

Your tiercel's too long at hack, Sir. He's no eyass 684 




THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 



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